Rogan

by Bex Dane

  I ushered him in and closed the door. "Take off those wet clothes."

  He chuckled. "Alright. That was easy."

  "No, I mean your jacket and hat, you goof!"

  He set his guitar against the wall and removed his soaked beanie and coat. He stalked toward me with purpose. "Time to talk." He grasped my hand and led me to the couch. "Remember how you'd ask me to forgive you and I'd tell you there was nothing to forgive?" He touched my temple and squinted at the bruises fading to yellow on my face. "Now it's my turn. Forgive me. For treating you the way I did before I left, for leaving, for saying what I said a week ago. Everything. I'm sorry." He took my other hand and held my gaze. "You wanna hear my excuses, I'll tell you, but just know I apologize, no matter why, I was wrong. I did mess with your head."

  "You totally did. I'm so confused. Why'd you get so angry when I asked you questions?"

  "I came straight from the airport. Hyperalert and in kill-or-be-killed mode. I run into your dad and some other asshole pounding his fists into you in the Siege parking lot... He's very lucky to be alive."

  "Oh my gosh."

  "The next morning, seeing welts darken on your beautiful face did not settle with me. Your pointed questions... I lost my shit. I should've contained it better."

  "I didn't think..."

  "You know how it bothers you when people call you sweet?"

  "Mmm-hmm."

  "Talking about what happens downrange triggers the same reaction in me. Particularly about PTSD. Hell yes, my friends died. My family…" He shook his head. "Simplifying it to four letters... People lose their lives in war. Yes. But the stuff I've seen affects everything I do."

  "Thanks for telling me this. I understand so much better now."

  "There's more I need to tell you. It's not easy for me to talk about. But I'd like to show you. We're gonna spend some time together. Alone. Away from here. And I'll tell you everything you want to know."

  "Why bother? Like you said, I can't handle you."

  He wrapped a hand around my neck and twined his fingers in my hair. "I was wrong. You're strong. More than anyone knows and stronger than any woman I've ever met. You may be the only one who can handle me."

  The coolness of his touch made me shiver, but when he looked in my eyes, the warmth of a campfire glowed there and heated my skin. The magnetic field crackled between us like hot bacon in a skillet, just as it always had before, but stronger now because he was focusing all his intensity on me and looked so darn gorgeous in his blue jeans and flannel shirt. But Rogan had hurt me and I'd promised myself I'd never give him the chance to do it again.

  I arched my neck to dislodge his hand and stepped away from him. "You shouldn't touch me. You lost that right."

  "Listen. Before I doubted my self-control with you. When I was out there this time, I realized I can utilize my training and apply it to you. In the field, I'm calm, precise, focused. I can do it. No one has better self-control than me."

  "You think you're suddenly going to be able to master whatever has been making you nutso all this time?"

  "I'm sure of it." He smiled at me and oh boy, Rogan's devilish grin made my panties catch fire and get wet at the same time. "You're taking time off. Come on an adventure with me. By the end of it, you'll see I'm right."

  "I can't. I need to work. My classes..."

  "There's no school Monday. You'll only miss Wednesday and Friday."

  "How do you know my schedule?"

  "You'll catch up when you get back."

  "But Siege. I'm working this weekend—"

  "You don't need to work. I'm in with the boss," he said in a conspiratorial tone as he pulled a number up on his phone. "Dallas, Tess won't be in for a week. That alright with you?"

  Rogan nodded and ended the call. "You're off work for a week."

  "You can't just call my boss like that."

  "I got you the job, I can get you a vacation."

  "You got me the job? I thought Brock..."

  "Brock did it because I asked him to."

  Well, that was kind. Even though he didn't tell me he did it. Wait… "Did you buy me the truck and give me the money?"

  "Yes. I wanted you to have an armored truck."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "Just in case."

  "Just in case what?"

  His playful eyes and laughing tone became dark and serious. "If you'd made it to your truck, your dad would've never gotten his hands on you."

  "Oh. I see." Rogan protected me from the beginning? He could be so darn thoughtful. But also a cold-hearted turkey. "I want to pay you back."

  "No." He stalked to my bedroom closet and picked up an empty duffel bag. "Best if you pack now. We're leaving in the morning."

  Hmm. Curiosity clawed at my psyche. What did he have planned? "If we do this, it's just friends. No cuddling. No kissing."

  His lips quirked up at the corners. "I think I made it clear I'm lookin' for more than friends with you, but I'll play along."

  "Okay. Let's go for it."

  "Bring the dress you wore to the wedding. And those cutoff shorts that show your ass. In fact, where's your schoolgirl outfit?"

  "My costume for Siege?"

  "Yeah, with the white stockings."

  "Um, in my backpack."

  "Go get it."

  I brought him my backpack and pulled out my top, skirt, and stockings. "And why would I need these?"

  He grabbed the costume from my hand and shoved it into the duffel bag. "Continue..." He handed me the bag and waved his hand toward the depths of the closet.

  I chose a few more items and added them to the bag.

  From behind me, he said, "Tess."

  I turned to face him. "Hmm?"

  He held up a squat, red cardboard box. "Bring this too."

  I dropped the bag and stepped toward him. "What is it?"

  "Open it."

  The box held a petite, gilded jewelry box. Intricate mother of pearl inlay traced around vines and flower buds. The lid opened in front, held by two golden hinges along the back. Inside, red velvet compartments. All empty, but perfectly square.

  "It's exquisite."

  "Pack it in the bag."

  "Shouldn't we leave it here? I don't want it to get damaged."

  "Bring it."

  "Okay."

  "And your ice-cream cone shoes. A bathing suit too. And your boots."

  "Boots? Where are we going? Is Takoda coming?"

  "Blaze'll watch Koda. Be prepared for anything. I'm leaving now. You finish packing." He walked to the door and stopped with one hand on the doorjamb. "I'll pick you up at oh-eight hundred.

  "Huh?'

  "Eight in the morning. Our flight's at ten."

  "Flight?"

  "If you wanna see the colors of the world, you gotta fly." He tapped the wall twice, gave me a wicked smirk, and left me alone in my room.

  Oh my goodness. What the heck did he have planned?

  Chapter 21

  "This must be expensive, Rogan."

  The pilot to our private jet walked into the cockpit and closed the door. I fiddled with my seatbelt and tried to calm my stuttering heart.

  "I live a simple life. Save my money. Spend when I want." Rogan's wide shoulders spread across the expansive back of the plush leather seat. His left hand balanced a worn cowboy hat on his thigh, his fingers dipping into the crease at the top like they'd spent many years there.

  "Do you take fancy jets everywhere?"

  "No, this is for you."

  My stomach leapt into my chest as the plane lifted off and the white snow on the Boston Executive Airport shrank from view.

  "Your injuries healing okay?" he asked me.

  "Yes." Makeup completely concealed the fading yellow of my bruises now. "So, why're we flying to North Carolina?"

  "Lived there the longest of anywhere else. Closest thing I've got to a place to call home."

  About two hours into the flight, Rogan handed me a small, black velvet pouch. I opened it
and dropped a bumpy black rock into my hand. "What's this?"

  "Black tourmaline."

  "Tourmaline?"

  "In its rough state. If you're not looking closely, you might pass over this stone thinking it's coal. You need persistence and a shit ton of tumbling to get the crystal inside to shine, but it's worth it. A polished tourmaline will protect you forever."

  I rolled the stone in my fingers, taking in the striated bumps and grooves of the rock.

  "If you decide you wanna keep it, we'll polish it up, make jewelry out of it. Or you can discard it." He shrugged.

  "Discard it?"

  What an interesting gift. Why would he give me something black and unpolished that would protect me forever and then offer to throw it away? I looked up and his eyes danced. He was waiting for me to figure it out.

  Oh goodness. He gave me him.

  His gaze moved to my smile. "I... I'll treasure this stone.” I pressed the tourmaline in my palm. "Of all the gifts you've given me, this one is the most precious. We won't discard it. We're keeping it. Polished or raw. I can't wait to add it to my jewelry box."

  "Good." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  Later in the flight, Rogan reached for my hand, but I snatched it into my lap. "No holding hands."

  "Tasted you already, Sunshine."

  Heat rose in my cheeks. "I'm protecting myself. You're not all black anymore, but you're a dark gray mass of questions. I can't trust gray. Not till you tell me everything about Boggs."

  "Is that how it is? You're extorting information outta me?"

  "Whatever you want to call it. Those are the rules."

  "Alright. I want to hold your hand, so I guess I'm gonna have to share something."

  "Make it good."

  "What do you wanna know?"

  "Tell me about your parents."

  His gaze wandered to a point in the distance over my head. "My dad was a redneck GI. She was a society girl. A model. He loved her like crazy. She couldn't hack the life of an Army wife, all the moving around, my dad gone most of the time. She hated living on base. When he came back from deployment, they'd fight. My mom divorced him when I was four years old."

  "Did you get to visit him?"

  "Yes, but not on a regular schedule. When he was in the States, I'd stay with him all summer. Spent all my vacations with him wherever he was stationed. Lots of times, that was in North Carolina."

  "What happened to him?"

  "Killed in action in Iraq. I was twelve."

  "I'm sorry. What was his name?"

  "Zander Saxton."

  I turned in my seat and angled my body toward him. "Tell me about him. Are you like him?"

  "I'm a carbon copy of my dad. We loved all the same shit. Huntin' and camping. He taught me to shoot when I was five. Told me all his war stories and survival tricks." Rogan rubbed his hand over his face. "He was aggressive and brave. Joined the Rangers and advanced to staff sergeant ridiculously fast. Decorated medals of honor. I never had any other ambition than to grow up and be him."

  "That's so sad it didn't work out with your mom."

  "Don't think he ever recovered from losing her."

  "Where does she live now?"

  Rogan's face went blank. He turned his head and stared straight ahead. "Overseas."

  Okay. Clearly he wasn't ready to share any details about her yet. "What'd you do in the Army?"

  "Did my first three tours as a sniper. Tried out and qualified for the Rangers like my dad. I got lucky and saw a ton of action on my fourth deployment. Earned myself a reputation as the Executioner. My commander recognized my skill and recommended me for an even more elite special ops team."

  "What's it called?"

  "Can't tell you. Most secretive unit in the U.S. military. As far as the public knows, it doesn't even exist. The missions are so sensitive, they're off the books. Totally black ops."

  "Wow. Impressive."

  "I served with honor."

  "Is that why all the secrecy with you rescuing me?"

  "Yeah. We can't draw any attention."

  "You must be an excellent sniper to be chosen."

  "I got the disposition, but make no mistake, I worked my ass off to make the cut. Only a slim percent of candidates survive the training."

  "What did they do?"

  "They weigh you down and toss you off a cliff into freezing rapids then watch and see if you sink or swim. Hard-core marches through rough terrain carrying a fifty-pound rucksack. You sit in a room full of smoke with no facemask. They basically torture you to see if you can handle the pressure."

  "And you made it through?"

  He nodded. "Mind over matter."

  "So Executioner? You've killed people?"

  "Yes..." he said slowly.

  "How many?"

  "Why the interest in this?"

  "I'm just wondering what it's like. To kill someone."

  "If you don't get them first, they'll kill you or your team."

  "So it's methodical for you?"

  He scratched the short hairs above his ear. "Snipers carry a lot of weight. Not just gear, but pressure to be the forward line of defense, usually ahead of your unit. When the unit loses a man, the sniper takes it on. I've heard "Taps" more times than anyone should, and each time, part of me knows I failed at my job. Logical or not. That's the way it is."

  "You can't bear that all yourself. The guilt will destroy you."

  He shrugged. "I harbor no remorse for the lives I took, only the brothers I didn't save."

  He curled his hand behind my neck, lowering his head for a kiss.

  I jerked my chin back. "You only asked to hold my hand."

  He froze and stared into my eyes. "I shared a shitload I've never told a soul before. Put our country's national security at risk trusting you. Now kiss me."

  I laughed. "Okay."

  His palm on my neck drew me closer until our lips hovered an inch apart. I breathed him in, his proximity more exhilarating than a real kiss. I arched my neck and our lips connected. I was wrong. The closeness was not better than a kiss. Nothing was better than this kiss.

  The six months apart evaporated in the moment his lips touched mine. The current between us zinged faster and more intense than ever. Before, I didn't even know him. I was a different person. Now I knew he was a calculated killer, yet he brushed his full lips on mine in a gentle caress. The tip of his tongue licked the seam of my lips and my stomach dropped, wanting more than anything to let him in. I opened for him, and his growl vibrated on my tongue, sending a tremor to my core.

  His fingers mashed the strands of my hair against the skin of my neck. He tasted more earthy and rugged than I remembered. He tilted his head and moved his mouth on mine with the hunger of a starving man faced with a buffet. I wanted to be devoured, but I angled my chin and broke our connection with a gasp.

  I wiped my lower lip with my finger. "Um... Thank you for trusting me." My voice was ragged.

  He sat back and his shoulders rose and fell with his deep breath. His hand moved his cowboy hat over a visible bulge in his pants, and he closed his eyes.

  The black tourmaline weighed heavy in my hand—a solid, impenetrable mass. I uncurled my fingers and held the stone up to the light.

  "You know, this tourmaline seems more brilliant already."

  He didn't look, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. "I'm gonna take you in the back of this plane."

  "What?"

  "On the return trip. Taking you in the bed in the back. Adding you to the mile high club."

  "Um... Just friends, remember?"

  He opened his eyes and leaned his forearm on the armrest between us. "Yeah, right. That kiss? I'm taking you in the plane on the way home. You're gonna scream my name."

  Lord have mercy. Heat flushed up my neck. I closed the tourmaline in my palm and crossed my arms. "We'll see."

  Chapter 22

  Dappled sunlight danced on the rental car's dashboard as we drove under the archi
ng willow oaks of Wilmington. Rogan pulled onto a long, narrow driveway in a neighborhood of secluded estate homes.

  "Who lives here?"

  "Falcon."

  Nervous jitters pricked my skin. The last time Falcon saw me, I was a weak mess, in shock from my ordeal with terrorists. "Uh, do you think it'll be awkward meeting him since I've been using his name as my fake cousin?"

  "Trust me. Falcon has no issues with pretending."

  "I'm nervous."

  "Don't be. He probably already considers you family. Falcon takes on strays—like me. He'll love you."

  At the end of the drive, Rogan parked in front of a whitewashed one-story home with tall rectangular windows. A lone Adirondack chair waited on the wide porch for someone to come out and have a sit while sipping sweet tea. A man I could only assume to be Falcon sauntered through the screened front door. Oh yeah. This must be Falcon because he had the same impossibly wide shoulders and don't-mess-with-me swagger as Rogan. Falcon squinted at our rental car as he descended the steps.

  The crisp January air snapped at my cheeks as I exited the car and walked to meet my make-believe cousin—who happened to have skin darker than mine and thick, curly black hair. We'd have to work on our story because we certainly didn't look related.

  Rogan stopped a few feet away from Falcon, raised his chin, and saluted him with his right hand stiff over his eye and his heels together. Falcon looked Rogan straight in the eye and returned the gesture with respect. They broke their stiff stances with a laugh and hugged each other with loud smacks to the shoulder.

  "Good to see ya, brother," Rogan said.

  "You too, man."

  Rogan released him and winked at me. "You remember your cousin Tessa?"

  "Howdy, Tessa." When Falcon tipped his chin, I noticed a tattoo of wing tips poking out of his navy blue T-shirt. I waved my fingers at him.

  "Betsy ready?" Rogan asked Falcon.

  "Spent all day yesterday on her. Tuned up, aired up." Falcon handed Rogan a set of keys and a knapsack he slung down from his shoulder.

  "We're gonna hit Bixby Boggs. Mud good today?"

  "Should be. Rained all week. You bring the sun with you or something?"

  "You know sun shines out of my ass wherever I go."

  Falcon laughed. "Y'all joining me tonight for some of my pork barbeque?"