Under the King's Command

by Ingrid Weaver

  "You're the one who always has to go after the next adventure, not me," she said, her tone harsher than she had intended.

  His smile disappeared. "I'm sorry about upsetting you earlier, Kate."

  "It's all right. Let's just forget it, okay?"

  "No, we can't forget it. That's the whole point. We've been trying to pretend that our past didn't happen, and it's not working."

  He was right, she thought. It wasn't working. But that only meant they had to try harder. "We're on a mission, and you're in the water. I don't think this is the time or place for a discussion, Sam."

  "Then what is?"

  "Would you just get in the dinghy now, Lieutenant Coburn?"

  He watched her in silence for a moment before he clamped his hands over the gunwale. "Better lean back."

  Just as she'd done when he went in, Kate leaned over the opposite side to help balance his weight. He kicked hard to heave his upper body out of the water, then hooked one knee over the side of the boat and rolled smoothly inside.

  The dinghy was designed to accommodate two people easily, but it suddenly seemed too small. Kate returned to her seat in the stern and tried to do what she'd done for a week. She tried to ignore the six feet two of ruggedly handsome male in front of her.

  But as Sam had said moments ago, it wasn't working.

  "Kate..."

  She held up a palm. "Please, Sam. We've said more than enough. Let's just get back to the boat."

  This time he didn't argue. He slicked the water from his chest and arms with his palms, completely unselfconscious about being half-naked. Without another word he took the oars, spun the dinghy around to point out of the cavern and rowed across the cove to their anchored sloop.

  The moment they had secured the lifeboat over the stern and stowed their gear, Kate headed for the cabin. But before she could reach the cockpit Sam stopped her with a firm hand on her arm. "Wait," he said.

  "I need to get on the radio and check in," she said almost desperately. She had to establish distance between them. She had to focus on her duty to keep the memories—and the doubts—at bay. They had to get back to the base before they dug up more things better left buried.

  "This will only take a minute." Sam transferred his grip to her shoulders and gently turned her to face away from him. There was the click of an opening stud and the rasp of a zipper.

  "Sam! What are you doing?"

  "Trying to get my hand into my pocket." He grunted. "This wet denim is like glue. Couldn't get my hand inside unless I opened my fly, and I didn't want to try this on the dinghy or you might have tried to jump overboard again."

  She felt her breath stop. He was already half-naked. Now he was unfastening the only garment he wore. And he was standing right behind her, close enough for her to sense every whisper of motion. She closed her eyes, but she could all too easily picture how the sun would be gleaming off his moist skin, how each ridged muscle would tighten with his movements, how pale and slim her hand would look as she caressed his body...

  No. It was over. Gone. She could control this. She had to.

  "Got it. Hang on a minute." The zipper rasped closed. A moment later he turned her around to face him and held out his hand.

  A fine gold chain was draped between his fingers. A gold butterfly glinted in the center of his palm.

  Kate's heart was pounding so hard it took her a moment to realize what he was showing her. When she did, she felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with sexual awareness. "Oh, Sam." She reached out to touch her fingertip to one of the butterfly wings. "You found it, after all."

  "Yeah. I'm sorry about the broken chain, but I think it can be fixed."

  She couldn't move, caught by the image of his large, strong hand holding her delicate necklace. Her throat grew tight with a sudden lump of emotion. This was too much. The man who had created a baby with her, a precious and fleeting life, now held the symbol of it.

  He ducked his head to catch her gaze. "I thought you'd be happy."

  She didn't know what she was. Right now, she was too mixed up to analyze it. She clasped her hand over his and lifted her face. "Thank you, Sam."

  "You're welcome, Kate."

  And then, as naturally as drawing her next breath, she stretched up and kissed him.

  Chapter 8

  It was like coming home. Something familiar, something treasured but left behind. Something she hadn't known was precious until it was gone.

  Only Kate had never really had a home. There had been a neat split-level house in the Miami suburbs that her mother had kept spotless and tastefully decorated. Her father had worked himself into a heart attack to avoid spending time in it. A home should have been warm and welcoming, but that house wasn't. It had been brittle, the atmosphere charged with the tension of impending arguments. Eventually the arguments had ceased altogether, not because things got better but because her parents had simply given up and stopped talking.

  Kate had grown up with one ambition—to leave. She wanted to leave that house and that life as far behind as she could. And so the Navy had become her family. Each time she packed her bags to move to another base, she left that soulless split-level further behind and proved she would never be trapped in a marriage like her parents.

  No, she'd never really known a home.

  Then why did Sam's kiss make her think of one?

  She pulled back her head to look at him.

  He smiled slowly, his eyes sparkling in a way that was achingly familiar. Treasured. Left behind.

  Kate trembled. Now was the time to stop. She could claim the kiss was just from gratitude. It wasn't too late. She could pretend—

  "Again," Sam said.

  "What?"

  "You did it again." He slipped his free hand into her hair, combing it from her temple with his fingers. "One of these days, Kate, I'm going to be the one to kiss you first."

  "But—"

  "Shh." He cupped the back of her head to hold her steady as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Duty, reason, memory, everything logical and reasonable was screaming alarms in her head, but she didn't want to listen. She closed her eyes and met him halfway.

  The only music was the soft beat of the waves against the hull and the whistle of the breeze in the rigging, but Kate could have sworn she heard a saxophone.

  The magic hadn't dimmed. It was as potent now as it had been before.

  That was why Kate had struggled so hard against it.

  And that was why she found it impossible to resist.

  His lips slid across hers in a caress as soft as a sigh. He didn't hurry, yet he didn't give her a chance to retreat. It was an exploration and a reminder, coaxing her to respond.

  She did. Heaven help her, she did. She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He tasted of salt from the sea and a dark, heavy thirst that wouldn't be quenched by a kiss. Kate felt his hand tighten in her hair as his tongue stroked hers, and she swayed against him, pressing her body full-length to his.

  His skin was damp and his cutoffs still dripping wet. Kate could feel the water soak into her tank top and shorts, but she didn't care. After a week of watching him, she was finally touching. And she couldn't get enough.

  How could she have forgotten how well they fit together? His angles to her curves, his strength to her softness was so... right, it was as if she belonged here.

  The necklace slipped from between their hands and fell to the deck unnoticed. Kate slid her arms around Sam, cupping her palms to the curve of his shoulder blades and splaying her fingers as if she could absorb him.

  How could she have forgotten how good he felt beneath her hands? His skin was sleek and hot, stretched tight over muscle that had been hardened by years of dangerous missions. He craved adventure, he thrived on freedom, but that didn't seem to matter to her now. Not when he was in her arms at last.

  He moved his mouth to her neck. She felt his breath puff warmly over her skin as he said her name. She tipped up her chin,
savoring the sensation.

  "Kate," he repeated, his voice rough. "My Kate."

  Another alarm sounded somewhere in her brain, but she was beyond listening. His lips brushed her throat, and tingles raced through to her toes. She felt as if she were awakening after a long sleep, her heart pumping, her blood flowing the way it was meant to. It couldn't be wrong.

  She curled her fingers, pressing her nails to his skin, hanging on as her head whirled. He dipped the tip of his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat. A sound rose between them, a soft moan of longing. She hadn't realized it was her until she felt an answering rumble vibrate from Sam's chest.

  He lifted his head. His eyes met hers without wavering. "I've missed you," he said simply. "So much."

  It still wasn't too late to stop, she thought dimly. He wasn't pushing her. And he would never force her. That's just the kind of man he was. Straightforward and honest. Responsible. Stubborn.

  Tender. Sweet.

  She parted her lips, but the lie wouldn't come. "I've missed you, too, Sam."

  The corners of his eyes crinkled with the beginning of a smile. But then he dropped his gaze, and his smile froze. "You're wet."

  "I'll dry off. It's warm and..." Her words trailed off as she followed his gaze. Water had seeped into her cotton tank top. The once modest garment clung to her breasts, clearly outlining her erect nipples.

  She watched him bring his hand between their bodies, and her knees went weak. He spread his fingers, holding his palm a whisper away from one straining peak.

  No, don't, she thought. If you touch me now we won't be able to go back.

  A tremor shook his fingers. His chest vibrated with another rumbling moan.

  She looked up and found his gaze on her face. His smile was gone. His eyes glowed with an intensity that gave her no chance to hide. Even in the sunshine that poured on the deck she felt the heat from his hand. She couldn't breathe as every nerve strained toward him, yearning for the moment when he would close the gap.

  Yes, oh, yes, she cried silently. Please, Sam, if you don't touch we now...

  He closed his hand over her breast.

  Kate was unable to stop her soft gasp of pleasure. It had been so long. She had forgotten how good this felt.

  No, she hadn't forgotten, she had chosen not to remember.

  He rubbed his palm across her nipple. The soft friction of the wet shirt over her sensitive flesh made it swell more. She locked her hands behind his neck, arching her back and shamelessly lifting herself more fully into his caress.

  He cupped her breast boldly, lifting, squeezing, driving her mad. With a groan, he curled himself over her body and fitted his mouth to hers.

  There was nothing coaxing about this kiss. He took her lips with swift certainty. His tongue plunged inside, demanding a response. She gave it, matching him stroke for stroke. Needs that she'd believed had died were blossoming. She wasn't merely awakening, she was coming alive.

  It was wonderful. Glorious. She couldn't think why she had fought it so long. Then she stopped thinking altogether and raked her fingers over his naked back.

  Sam shifted, bracing his legs apart and wrapping his arms around her waist as he drew her more firmly against him. The position brought their hips together. Beneath the cool, wet denim he was hot and hard.

  Kate hooked her foot behind his leg to improve the fit.

  She didn't know how they ended up on the deck. One moment they were standing, the next they were on their sides, their legs entwined, their feet halfway down the companionway, their hands everywhere they could reach. She pushed Sam to his back and climbed on top of him, pressing kisses to his chest. She paused only long enough to help him yank her tank top over her head and get rid of her bra before she fell on him greedily.

  He tasted the same, she discovered, running her tongue down the center of his six-pack abs. The years had honed his body to perfection. He had a few new scars, a small ridge of white skin to the left of his navel and a long curving one beneath his right ribs. She kissed them both, then did the same for the recent bullet wound in his side.

  With a sound she could only describe as a growl he grasped her shoulders and reversed their positions, straddling her hips as he came down on top of her. He went straight for the zipper of her shorts, cursing colorfully when the zipper stuck halfway down.

  Breathless, she pushed his hands aside and unfastened it herself.

  He cursed again.

  Kate glanced up.

  Sam wasn't looking at her. He was looking behind him toward the cabin.

  "Lieutenant Coburn, Lieutenant Mulvaney, do you read me?"

  The voice was faint, barely audible over the sound of the breeze and the gentle lap of the waves. It came from the radio.

  Sam sat back on his heels, and warm, damp denim brushed her thighs. He rubbed his face hard.

  Kate drew in a breath, trying to clear the haze from her vision.

  "Lieutenant Coburn, Lieutenant Mulvaney, please report." It was the policeman who was overseeing the communications at the command post. Sergeant Chelios. And judging by his anxious tone, it wasn't the first time he'd tried to contact them.

  Sam dipped his head and met her gaze. "Kate..."

  She swallowed hard. "We have to answer."

  "I know." He made no move to get off her. "Are you all right?"

  No, she was not all right. She ached. She throbbed. Her body was clamoring to complete what they'd started.

  What they'd started...

  Suddenly everything came into focus. Clear, brutal focus.

  What had they started?

  "Oh, my God," she muttered.

  Sam brushed his knuckles along her cheek. "Don't, Kate."

  "We almost... we could have..." She couldn't seem to catch her breath. "Oh, God."

  "Don't regret this, Kate. It was bound to happen."

  No.

  "We'll finish this later." He leaned over and gave her a swift kiss, then rose to his feet and disappeared down the companionway. A moment later his voice came from the cabin. "This is Lieutenant Coburn. Over."

  Numbly, Kate sat up and looked for her top. It had ended up hooked over a cleat. Her bra dangled from the ship's wheel. She gathered her clothing and scanned the cove. Fortunately, no one was in sight, but she hadn't thought of that, had she? She hadn't thought about anything other than satisfying the need Sam had stirred.

  She put on her bra, but her hands were shaking too hard to fasten it. Stupid. Pathetic. How could she have lost control so totally, so fast? She bit her lip and concentrated, willing her fingers to function.

  She was an officer in the United States Navy. She was a mature, rational woman. And now she was incapable of guiding a hook through an eye.

  Exhaling hard, she finally managed to fasten her bra. She yanked on her top. It was still wet, clinging to her breasts in the same way that had started all of this.

  No, what had happened here had started before today. Before last week.

  We'll finish this later.

  She combed her fingers through her hair. Her short hair. She'd cut it to get rid of the memories. And to punish herself. She should have remembered that. Instead, she'd remembered how good Sam could make her feel.

  Something glinted near her feet. She looked down. It was her necklace.

  With a sob she fell to her knees. She scooped up the chain and the worn gold butterfly, enclosing them in her fist protectively.

  Sam's hand settled on her shoulder. "Kate?"

  She jerked away from his touch and glared at him.

  His feet were bare. The stud at his waistband was still unsnapped. He hadn't put on his shirt. His damp hair stood up in finger-combed tufts, and his eyes still gleamed with awareness.

  God help her, she wanted to kiss him again.

  Kate felt a twinge of panic. They had almost had sex in broad daylight while on duty. And if that wasn't stupid enough, the sex would have been unprotected. She hadn't given any thought to birth control. What was
wrong with her? Was she trying to destroy her career and her life? Did she want history to repeat itself?

  She rolled to her feet, tightening her fist until the gold butterfly pricked her palm. "What's going on? Why was Sergeant Chelios trying to contact us?"

  Sam looked at Kate as she faced him. Her chin was up. So was the wall she'd done her best to raise between them. But her lips were swollen and her cheeks were flushed. Her top was damp and crooked, and she'd forgotten to zip her shorts.

  For the first time in his life, Sam didn't want to do his duty. He didn't want to be responsible. He didn't want to think about his career or his rank or the struggle it had taken to get this far. He wanted to tumble Kate down to the deck and feel her nails in his back and her legs around his waist and—

  "Sam, is there a problem?"

  Damn right, there was a problem. "The cabin cruiser they've been tracking is moving erratically along this stretch of the coast. We've been asked to take a look."

  "I'll raise the anchor," she said, starting past him.

  He snagged her elbow. "Kate, we have to talk."

  "Not now."

  "For God's sake, Kate. We almost made love. You can't pretend nothing happened."

  "We almost had sex," she said, spitting out the words as if she were reading an indictment. "But we didn't. Let's move on."

  He stared at her, trying to understand how she could turn it on and off so easily. Had he deceived himself? Was he the only one whose world had just been shaken?

  No. He knew what he'd felt. He hadn't done this alone. She'd been a willing participant. Hell, she'd been the one to kiss him first.

  "What is the cruiser's position?" she asked. "It may be better to use the auxiliary motor in order to get directly to it if it's upwind."

  He released her arm. She was right. This wasn't the time to talk.

  They raised anchor and headed for the last reported position of the cruiser. The wind was with them, so they made better time with the sails than they would have with the auxiliary motor. A powerboat with a twin-engine diesel would have been easier to handle than this sloop, but half the vessels that had been volunteered for this mission were wind-powered, and Sam hadn't considered giving himself any special privileges over the people under his command. A good leader didn't expect his men to do anything he wouldn't do himself.