Handbags are dangerous. I don’t remember hearing about any events this large in San Diego since 9/11. There is security here, but not enough. Uneasiness washes over me in spades. My anger transforms into fear for her safety. Fuck. I swallow down the terror and function in stealth mode. I’d give anything to have on civies right now. I slip my bloody jacket back on, remove my name tag and trident for anonymity, and run my hands over my face and hair to try to smear away the dried blood. I’m out of regulation, but it’s a chance I’m going to take.
I enter the back of the crowd and try to keep a scowl off my face as I assess threats. These people look harmless, but harmless is the new norm. I’ve hunted harmless for months now. It sends a shiver down my spine. I should call for backup, but I’m leading with my heart right now. I nod at a security guard, who narrows his eyes in my direction. When I’m close enough to the window, I chance a glance away from the crowd and see Carina sitting down at a small table in the center of the store. She looks like a sitting duck. A beautiful, stunning author who wrote a novel about a SEAL: a target. The prettiest target there ever was.
She fixes her hair, pulling it over one shoulder as Jasmine sits next to her and brushes an eyelash from the top of Carina’s cheek. She smiles, but I see a sadness in the pull of her mouth. From talking to me. I did that. It makes me happy and fucking miserable at the same exact time. I’m caught up in thoughts when the doors open. It’s like cattle pouring into a barnyard. Carina’s eyes widen as she sees the flood of people, and she smiles a false grin.
I watch her. Caught up in this moment viewing a woman I don’t know. The author. The person she’s hidden behind for so many years. Several security guards direct two groups of people to the sides and the line thins outside the door. Carina is already distracted talking to her visitors and signing books. I edge my way out of the line and head for the rear of the store. The door is propped open with a brick, which makes for easy access. I slide in undetected and let the door close to a locking position behind me. Now it’s secure. Lazy security guards are worthless here. Finding her is easy. The voices of all of her admirers are loud and raucous. Excitement reverberates the air. No one is worried about an attack. They’re just happy. It lets me calm down a touch.
Taking a deep breath, I count in my head until I’m no longer visibly upset. I push my way through the side of the crowd until I’m the next person in line. A few people groan, but no one says anything once they see my uniform, or realize my sheer size and appearance. Add in the blood and I might as well be a dirty video game character from Call of Duty 3.
“Next,” Jasmine says. They’re both so distracted their eyes aren’t even registering the people who are next in line. I walk up first before the person in the other group and hold out my arm to halt the woman who is supposed to meet Carina from that side. She takes a step back, eyes frightened. Perfect. This, right here, is me self-destructing.
I stop in front of her table and stare at the top of her head. She’s signing a flyer of some sort, ready to give it to the next person in line. Jasmine sees me first and her mouth opens in a small O. “Greenleigh,” I rasp.
Carina swallows and slowly tilts her face up. “Oh my God,” she whispers, covering her mouth. Tears form in her eyes immediately. “Are you okay?” My attempt at cleaning myself up didn’t work.
I shake my head. “I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay. Not since the moment I met you,” I reply. I place my hands on the table in front of me. The bloody one leaves a smear on the white tablecloth. Finally, two security guards approach, but they don’t touch me.
Jasmine stands and tells them it’s fine and leads them away to control the crowds. “I can’t do this right now, Smith,” she whispers, tears flowing unmercifully down her perfect face.
“Why not? Because of this?” I pick up one of the books on her table and hold it in the air. “This is just fiction. Right, Greenleigh?”
Carina sobs and covers her face. “I can’t.”
“Fine. You don’t have to. But I’m going to. I love you. I love you. I love you. You can’t love someone you never had,” I say, quoting her from Never Forever. “I disagree. Because I love you and I never had you. Not the way I was supposed to, anyways.”
She swallows, puts her hands down, but remains sitting. There are gasps from behind us and small rumblings of conversation begin in the masses. I turn toward them. A few women shirk back, afraid of what I’m going to do. I raise the book in the air again. “I love this woman more than anything in this godforsaken world. Before the attacks even, when the world was a beautiful place she was still the thing I loved the most. The only thing I wanted to keep. The only person I’ve ever loved so much that words fail to define my love,” I yell.
Several women start crying. Others put their hands over their mouths as they realize the magnitude of what is happening. “Is this part of the show? Is this a skit?” someone calls out. The smart thing to do would be to agree with this, that yes, it’s a show and I’m an actor hired to portray the asshole from her novel. I’m already in too deep. I dig in my heels.
I shake my head and turn to face Carina again. “No, this isn’t part of the show. This is real life. I love you and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. I made a mistake. You are the only thing I want. I need you. I do,” I say. I bring the book to lay it over my heart. “We are real. This book is fiction.”
She stands, keeping her gaze aimed at my face. “Oh, Smith. I can’t believe you’re doing this right now.”
“I wanted your attention,” I call out.
“You got it. And the hundreds of people here.” She nods to the camera to our right. “And the millions that will see this on television.”
My heart skips a beat. I didn’t see the camera. I was too transfixed with her proximity. It’s surreal being this close to her after all this time.
“I’m the douchebag in this book!” I shout. People cheer—shouts and hoots of praise and boos of disapproval.
Carina hangs her head. “I love you too,” she whispers quietly. “You douchebag.”
“Forever?” I ask.
Her chest rises and falls quickly, nervous behavior from a woman who is making one of the most important decisions of her life. Her lips pressed in a firm line, they curl up in the corner. “And always.”
We stare at each other, the table separating us. I catch my breath and she loses hers. “I need to do something then.”
Carina shakes her head, laughing, her tears changing from sad to happy. “Go ahead. You have a captive audience.” She leans closer, assuming I’m going to kiss her. Instead, I take the book in my hand and flip to page 452, the beginning of the end, and rip the last forty pages from the book.
With wide eyes and mouth ajar Carina watches. I crumple them with my right fist, the one still leaking blood everywhere and throw the pages on the floor. Then I hop over the table and take her in my arms.
“This is the ending,” I whisper so only she can hear.
She blinks away a tear and like autopilot, her arms rise up to hook around my neck. I close my eyes, breathe her in, and relish this moment like it may be my last. She reaches up, I bring my head down, and she presses her lips against mine in a kiss that fixes everything.
I’m holding, tasting, feeling her—my home. My love. My life. “My God, this feels so good,” I say, pulling away.
Her eyes are still closed. “I can’t believe it feels like this. After everything.”
I nod in agreement.
Carina leans away to look at me. “Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
“You committed book murder,” she says.
Grinning widely, I say, “You did first.”
She lifts and lowers one shoulder. “You should acknowledge your fans, Smith.” It’s only now that I hear the applause and the loud screams. With Carina in my arms, I turn around.
“I’m not the douchebag anymore!” I yell.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Carina
HE’S THERE WHEN I get home. The sight of his truck in the driveway gives me goosebumps. It’s excitement, something I’ve only had in small doses throughout my life. Smith is sitting inside the cab with the engine running even though I’m sure he has a house key. Emotionally I’m exhausted. Physically I’m drained. Both of those things take a backseat when I think about how amazing it felt to have him in my arms today. When he sees me pull in he hops out of his truck quickly and opens the car door for me.
“Have you been here since you left the bookstore?” I ask. I finished the meet and greet, and Smith left because of the crazy commotion his declaration caused. After that spectacle, I answered so many questions I wasn’t sure what was real and what was a lie. That would always be the problem.
He sighs. “I had a lot of thinking to do,” he says.
I grab my handbag and a few other totes with my supplies and step out. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound like the start of a happy story,” I reply.
He kisses me. Right here in the driveway. Like we’re in a bedroom naked with the lights off. It takes my breath away and steals all thoughts I had moments before. Kissing Ben never felt like this. Not even by a fraction. I chalked it up to heartbreak, but now I realize the problem was larger than that. The problem was I’d already tasted this.
His hands make their way into my hair and it tingles every place he touches. My stomach is light and I’m so turned on, it’s like no time has passed at all. That thought scares me into caution.
“You should have went in. Poppet is all by herself,” I say, pecking his mouth in a sweet kiss.
“I want you all by yourself,” Smith replies, pulling me closer.
Truly, I can’t resist. I lean into his chest and bury my face in his clean T-shirt. He’s changed since the show this afternoon. A white bandage wraps the knuckles on his right hand.
“I can breathe again, Care. I can breathe.” Smith tightens his grip like he fears I’ll vanish into thin air.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I say. “The park. I haven’t been able to go anywhere at night. You can abuse your handy ID to get us there, right?”
Reluctantly, Smith pulls away from our embrace. He runs the back of his knuckles down my face. It’s where Roarke hit me. “Yes. Let’s go. Poppet?” he asks, smiling.
We agree to go in and say hello to the cat and then leave. Poppet is sleeping on my bed, but stands when I enter the room. She looks between Smith and me. “She’s not used to anyone else in the house,” I explain.
“Not even Ben?” Smith asks, leaning against the doorway. The way he’s holding himself back is admirable. I know exactly what he wants to do and how badly he wishes he were in this room. On this bed. With me. I know because I feel the same way.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and Poppet lands in my lap with a cute jump. I kiss her small head and stroke her fur. “No, Smith. I can’t have a man in this house.”
He palms his chest with his bandaged hand. “I’m a man in this house.”
I roll my eyes and stand. “You pay for this house and this is our house. It will always be our house. I called Ben on the way home,” I say, clearing my throat.
Smith stands and shifts his weight to the other side. “And?”
“He called me a lying bitch. Before you get upset, I am. I told him I was over you when we started dating. I called you bad things. I also told him Never Forever was fiction. It is…but it’s not. I lied to him.”
“A bitch, though?” Smith asks, lips pressed in a firm line. He raises one brow in question.
Kissing Poppet one more time, I plop her back on the bed and brush her white hair off my dress. Walking toward Smith, I say, “My grandma always told me to do two things in person. Give bad news and apologize. Both of those probably needed to happen and I called him instead. I broke up with him by the way of a phone call on the night we were planning on having sex for the first time.”
His eyes just about bulge out of his head. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Shit, Carina. TMI. I have visions of you that are so disturbing that I could commit murder right now.”
I slide my hands around his waist as he slips his hands around me. “I didn’t want to, but that’s usually part of moving on. He…was a good guy. His timing was unlucky and his selection was faulty.”
He kisses me on the top of the head. “We should go. Before my thoughts shift to me having sex with you instead of some dude named Ben.” He thrusts his hips forward so I feel his erection. “Oh, wait. They’ve already rounded that corner and decided to take a detour to blow job street, too.”
We laugh. I kiss his neck. He groans. I melt. We make it out to his truck. Barely. He knows as well as I do that we need to talk. It’s been a long time since we’ve had any kind of relationship, let alone a sexual one. The guards at the security checkpoint by my house know him now. They wave him on and we’re parking his truck in the empty lot just as the setting sun turns the sky a vibrant pink and red.
Smith tells me he wants to go to our tree—the one with the gangly roots that protrude through the ground like angry waves at the beach. It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s so silent and the night so temperate I’m happy to be outside. Especially with his hands wrapped around me.
The tree looms before us. Tall and old, leaves and roots untouched by the disaster that is our new world. I suppose I thought it would look differently after all this time, and after everything that has transpired since our last visit. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. Smith nods in agreement and takes my hand in his. I have our park blanket tucked under my arm.
The last rays of today’s light beam on the trunk and it’s a sign. Some insane, unpredictable sign that we are where we’re supposed to be. Right now and forever. We sit down next to a tangled root that has several other ones fused around it and stare off in the distance. The top of the old church is visible above the treetops, almost disappearing with daytime.
“It’s where it started,” Smith says, leaning back on his elbows. His whole demeanor has shifted. A calmness—a fragment of peace that wasn’t there any time I’ve seen him since our separation.
“Don’t tell me it’s where it ends. I don’t take the Romeo and Juliet comparison literally, you know?”
He pulls me toward him. My head finds his chest—his heartbeat.
“I missed you so much, Smith,” I whisper.
“Miss isn’t even the correct word.” He clears his throat, emotion already taking over. “I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere. Nothing made sense. I held onto an old promise because it was all I had that made sense. I lost myself more when I lost you than I did when I lost my memory. I’m sorry.”
I roll on top of him, straddling his hips so I can look down and see his eyes. “Don’t apologize anymore. Make me promises instead. Those mean more.”
“I’d promise you anything right now. Not just because you’re sitting on top of my dick either,” he replies.
I smile. “Can you promise forever?” My voice shakes as I ask a question I never dared to ask from anyone else.
He sits up, a smile beaming bright on his beautiful face. Grabbing my face, he kisses me once, then again. Once more just to taste me, and I sigh in contentment. “Marry me,” he orders. “Take my name and let’s make babies. They’ll make babies and our love will live on forever, Carina. Marry me. Be the person you want to be. And I’ll be happy to be by your side for as long as we have left on this earth.”
I snort, an ungodly awful noise as I’m trying to conceal my tears and emotion. Kissing the side of his cheek, the scarred one, I lean into his ear. “Only if you’ll walk me down the aisle,” I reply.
He leans away to look at me. “Is that a yes?”
I nod. “Of course it’s a yes. I’ll marry you. I’ll make babies with you. I’ll love you forever. You’re the only thing in this world that gives me hope. The world could crumble around me…literally, but if you’re with me, I’ll be happy.” Smi
th hugs me.
The embrace turns lethal when he kisses my ear and then my neck. I lean back to give him access to my collarbone and the front of my neck. “Are you okay right here?” he asks, his words a rush of breath and desire.
I kiss him as an answer. He lies down and takes me with him on top. “No one is outside right now. The curfew is good for something,” I reply. It wouldn’t have stopped me anyways.
“I want to make love to my fiancée, but I’m so excited I’m not sure what I’m about to do to you will be construed as love. You understand?” he asks, his hands unzipping my dress quickly.
I slide the dress off my shoulders to expose my lacy bra.
“You want to fuck me,” I say.
He grins. “My God, yes.” Dark conceals us, but not so much we can’t see each other clearly. I take his T-shirt off slowly so as to not harm his hand. His smile is lustful, but steadfast. He can’t stop smiling. Standing over him, he slides the dress and my panties off with gentle fingers. Being naked outdoors feels free. It feels naughty, the wind and air meeting places clothing is supposed to touch instead.
When his jeans and underwear are down by his ankles, I position myself between his knees and lean down, but stop right before I put him in my mouth. “This first?” I ask.
“You’re trying to kill me with anticipation. Yes, yes, this moment right here is what my dreams are made of. Not so much the blow job itself, but you right there, eyes looking at me, mouth ready, my cock hard. This. Snapshot,” he says. Then groans. “Don’t wait anymore, though.”
Black and White Flowers (The Real SEAL Series Book 1) Page 23
