by Johnson, Liz
“No. No. We don’t have to do any of that. It’s just a party.”
Ashley’s eyes and smile both grew wide with excitement, flashing white teeth as she spoke. “Oh, no, it’s not. The navy doesn’t just throw a party. They throw balls. Full-dress uniforms and beautiful gowns.”
Running her fingers down the side of her face, Staci backed up until she fell into Tristan’s overstuffed recliner. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” she said through pinched lips.
“No, it’s not.”
But it was. It was a terrible idea. What was he thinking inviting her to a formal event?
She didn’t fit in at galas like that. She was jeans and comfortable skirts, not floor-length gowns and updos. Her time in prison had left scars that didn’t belong in a ballroom.
So had her surgery six years before. And those were just the visible scars.
Anyway, she and Tristan weren’t supposed to know each other outside of her rescue. He’d told her that more than once that first day she’d come to his office. What would people think when they saw them together? This could get him into serious trouble, even if he assured her no one would recognize her. What would he do when someone asked for an introduction? This was all a bad idea. Maybe she should tell Tristan she couldn’t go. That would solve the problem.
Avoiding the ball is also a convenient excuse to get out of spending time alone with him because you’re afraid you might like it too much.
Ashley’s smile slowly faded, and she looked at the book in her hands. “Can I ask you a question?”
Staci paused at the hesitation in Ashley’s words. “All right.”
“Please don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that Tristan is taking you, but…” Her eyebrows bunched together. “You know what? Never mind.”
A band around her lungs squeezed, and Staci leaned forward. “What?”
Shaking her head, Ashley’s face became a mask of uncertainty and warring emotions. Finally, in a small voice, she asked, “Why isn’t he taking Robin?”
Ashley asked the question as if Staci should know the girl, and her stomach twisted painfully. “I’m not sure. Who is she?”
“Oh.” Ashley was definitely surprised that Staci didn’t know about Robin.
So, who was she? Probably someone who would fit in at a navy ball. Someone without a red scar marring her face. Someone beautiful and elegant.
Someone whole.
Staci sighed as the mental image of a statuesque blonde in a figure-flattering gown on Tristan’s arm flashed across the back of her eyelids.
That was the type of woman he’d want.
She didn’t need to know Robin to know what type of woman he’d usually take to this kind of event.
Because whatever his type, it wasn’t Staci.
He’d made that clear on the phone. This was part of uncovering the information on the map and keeping her safe from an American terrorist. He didn’t want her. And she couldn’t blame him.
*
The next morning Staci was ready for another training session just as she’d promised. But no matter how clear Tristan’s instructions on the blue mat, she couldn’t focus on anything but the image she’d conjured of his Robin. Who was she? What was she like? How long had they been together? Or not together?
“Hold a key between your fingers like this.” He held up a fist, one jagged key protruding from between his middle and ring fingers, the rest of the key chain clasped in his palm. “See? Now try to hit me. Dig it in deep.”
She nodded, taking the keys from him and doing like he’d shown. Except when she swung at him, her hand opened, and the keys clattered to the mat. They bounced twice, and she could do nothing but stare at them as he stooped to pick them up.
As he knelt on one knee with one forearm propped on the other leg, he gazed up at her.
She gasped, coughing on the sudden intake and concurrent lurch of her pulse.
If he only knew.
There, with mussed brown hair, wide blue eyes filled with compassion and an easy grin, he looked like he might be proposing. Except for the absent ring, everything about his stance called to her childhood fantasies of romantic proposals.
Even the unusual location fulfilled her dreams of a memorable tale to tell friends and family.
If she were another woman—any other woman—maybe he would have been.
Instead, he frowned up at her. “You okay? You seem distracted.”
“Yes, well…” She couldn’t very well admit that she kept picturing another woman in his arms, and it made her heart ache and her muscles limp. That when he held her, it made her feel like a real woman, if just for a few minutes, which made it all the harder when reality sunk back in.
His gaze dropped to where his hand wrapped around the keys. “Want to tell me what’s going on? You didn’t say two words to me last night.”
“I was tired.”
“You went to bed at twenty-one thirty. Still tired?”
No. Yes. He didn’t need to know that she’d stayed awake for hours, huddled under her covers, trying to force the picture of him with an imaginary woman from her mind every time she squeezed her eyes closed. That she’d finally given up and stared through the darkness at a ceiling she couldn’t see because it was easier than wondering if he was in love with someone else.
She could only blink like an owl in response to his question.
Of course she was tired.
But that wasn’t why she was dropping keys and throwing halfhearted punches.
“I’m sorry that you’re under so much pressure. I know you probably don’t want to go to the ball, but I can’t think of any other way for you to interact with so many men on the base.”
There. He’d just given her the out she’d hoped for. “But won’t you get in trouble for being seen with me? We’re not supposed to spend time together. You said so yourself.”
He ruffled his hair with a flat hand, never taking his gaze from her face. “We’ll fly under the radar as best we can. And I’ve talked to my superiors. They understand enough of the situation that we’ll be in the clear.” The corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided grin. “Besides, you won’t look much like your picture in the papers, and we’ll just keep from using your last name as much as possible.”
Her shoulders fell, her breath escaping through tight lips.
“If you could pinpoint the voice of the man you heard in Lybania, wouldn’t it be worth it?”
He thought she was upset about going to the ball. He thought that’s why she kept dropping things, bumping into walls and refusing to answer his questions.
If only he could understand that the minute she spoke, she knew Robin’s name would fly out of her mouth.
It was eating her up inside not knowing who Robin was and what she meant to him. Not knowing if she had grown far too fond of a taken man. Even her concern about the gala stemmed from her uncertainty about Robin.
She rubbed her eyes with her fingers, blinking her contacts back into place until the contours of his hair came into focus. She managed two quick breaths, trying to formulate some sort of response. Some kind of explanation.
She wanted to go to the ball with him. She just didn’t want to go when there should be someone else on his arm.
She wanted to hear the voices of the other men on the base, searching out a familiar lilt or recognizable phrase.
She wanted to find the man she’d heard inside her jail cell and make sure justice was done. And then she wanted to go back to her old life, where she didn’t spend every day in close quarters with a man who insisted on making her long for a different destiny.
But her words fell short.
And vanished altogether when he put his hand on her waist.
It was heavy, his fingers splayed over the small of her back, his thumb rubbing a slow circle on her side, a gentle prodding to open up to him. Beneath long, pale lashes, his eyes implored her for something more than broken glances and trembling hands.
She took a fortifying breath. “I want to
go, but…” Her words were more air than sound, so she cleared her throat before continuing, torn between wishing that he’d pull his hand away and that he’d keep it right where it was forever. Chewing on her lip, she closed her eyes and just let out the truth as fast as she could. “Don’t you think Robin might be upset if you take me?”
He jerked his hand away, and a chill swept down her side in the absence of his embrace. “Robin?”
She risked peeking at him through one eye. His eyebrows reached toward his hairline; his mouth hung open.
“How’d you hear about—” He cut himself short. “Ashley.” With eyes reflecting an internal storm, he shook his head.
“Please don’t be mad at her. When I told her about the ball, she just asked why you weren’t taking Robin.” Suddenly the words wouldn’t stop flowing, and she didn’t want them to. “And she didn’t tell me who Robin was, but I just figured that there was someone special in your life, and I wouldn’t ever want to get in the way of that. And this is important—but maybe there’s another way. I just don’t want to be in the way. And I don’t want Robin to be mad. And maybe she’d feel better if she could meet me. Or knew that there was nothing going on.” She flapped her hand between them, feeling ridiculous with Tristan still on bended knee. Pushing the terrible nerves in her stomach away, she opened her mouth to plunge forward.
Maybe if she just kept talking, she’d pass out and hit her head hard enough to forget that she’d ever blabbered on like this, as he kept a perfectly straight face.
“This isn’t Ashley’s fault. She’s just concerned about you. And I’m a guest in your house, and…”
Her words died on her lips as the corner of his mouth slowly rose, his eyes gleaming.
Ever so slowly, he stood, his hand brushing her arm and no more than a breath between them. When he was all the way upright, he bent his head, looking straight down into her eyes, his smile now full-blown.
“I guess I never got around to telling Ashley.”
“What?” The word was a croak. But it was all she could handle as her skin buzzed with his nearness.
“Robin hasn’t been in the picture for more than a year.”
TEN
Tristan stumbled back as Staci pushed flat palms against his chest, the force of her impact catching him off guard.
“You jerk,” she said.
“Good hit.” He laughed as he caught her wrists in his hands and tugged her closer.
“You let me just keep going on and on.” Her chin bent low. Long hair hanging over her shoulders, she shook her head. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
His smile dimmed as he tucked her hair behind her ear. But he didn’t really have an answer for her. At least not one that made any sense. He couldn’t just tell her how cute she’d been, her eyes so filled with concern.
“You should have stopped me. I sounded like an idiot.” She sighed, still not looking up from the piece of mat between her tennis shoes. “Maybe I am one. A useless idiot.”
His fingers drifted up her arms, until he cupped her elbows. The space between them vanished. Battling the tension around his heart, he skimmed his fingers back down her arms. “You’re not an idiot. And you’re most certainly not useless. I’m a jerk. You’re right. I should have stopped you, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to ask about Robin. I didn’t think you knew who she was.”
“I don’t.”
He held her at arm’s length then, ducking down until he could see her face. Glistening pink lips had all but disappeared as she chewed on them, her jaw in constant motion as she ran her fingers down the side of her face. She refused to look at him, and the band pulled tighter around his chest.
Taking a shallow breath, he shot a glance around the room. When he was certain they were alone, he said, “I didn’t tell Ashley because I didn’t want her to know.”
Big green eyes, filled with curiosity, fluttered up at him. “What didn’t you want her to know?”
“That Robin and I stopped seeing each other.”
As though he’d spoken the invitation, she slipped her hand into his, holding it as though she could squeeze the hurt from his past. “I’m sorry.”
He took a quick step back, suddenly unsure of what to do with the hand she’d captured. He’d had no problem holding her close to comfort her before. But this reversal of roles where she consoled him didn’t sit quite right.
Of course, that didn’t mean he was eager to let go of her hand, either.
He just had to keep himself from getting used to the feeling of having her around. It wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t.
“Why didn’t you want Ashley to know?” Her words were as gentle as the breath that tickled his arm.
The short version. He could just keep it simple. She didn’t have to know the whole story, the part that still felt like a knife to his chest every time he thought of it. He didn’t want her pity or need her sympathy.
And he most certainly didn’t want to relive his most terrible memory—what happened with Phoebe that made his relationship with Robin doomed from the start. No, he wouldn’t bring that up.
Especially not in front of this woman, who carried her own tortured past.
“After Ashley and Matt got married, my sister started worrying about me. Worried that I’d end up old and alone.”
“You’re not old. Not yet, anyway.”
He laughed. “Thanks for that.”
Her head tilted back, her eyes filled with concern. “Why would she be worried that you’d end up alone?”
Oh, the million-dollar question. The one guaranteed to give him heartburn. He’d rather face down another building full of tangos than answer her question. Her words held no contempt or unkindness. She hadn’t meant to dredge up old memories and the bitter past.
But he couldn’t tell her.
“Was there someone else before Robin?”
He didn’t have to say it. He didn’t have to answer her question. He did anyway. “Yes.”
Staci’s thumb on the back of his hand rubbed in a soothing circle, and he let his shoulders relax, the tightness in his chest releasing. Maybe he could tell her a little. Just enough to satiate her curiosity.
“Her name was Phoebe.”
“Tell me about her.”
It had been more than four years. He’d dated Robin since then, been promoted, and even learned to be happy for Matt and Ashley. But the memory still crashed through him, stealing his breath and leaving his muscles limp. How could he speak the words?
It was better to avoid them altogether, right?
Better to dodge the truth, cover the emotional scars and keep it together.
Even better to walk away before he began longing for something that he didn’t have a right to want. Something that couldn’t be his.
Something that was more and more attractive the longer he held on to Staci.
But he couldn’t be both a SEAL and a spouse. He couldn’t be abroad saving the world and save his love, too.
Phoebe had proven that.
So then, why was having Staci this close so sweet?
Oh, Lord. His breath caught on the two-word prayer, his chest a battleground of agony as he pulled Staci into his arms and thought of Phoebe.
He didn’t want to think about her. He didn’t want to talk about her. And he couldn’t give up her memory.
Staci leaned into him. “I mean, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
Good. He didn’t want to. But his mouth didn’t get the message, and suddenly he was talking about her. “We met when I was just out of SEAL school. She was incredible. Funny and smart and intent on being a veterinarian. She loved animals, always bringing strays back to her apartment. I think I fell in love with her the first time she made me pull over on an old two-lane highway to check on a wounded dog. We took it to a pet hospital, and she held on to my hand so tight that I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. And then she cried when the vet said the mutt was going to be fine thanks
to her.
“I’d never met anyone like her. So full of life and joy. Always checking in on her elderly neighbors and volunteering at the humane society. She said it kept her busy while I was deployed.”
“Were you gone a lot?”
“I did two six-month tours while we were dating. She never complained, so I knew she was the one. I proposed the day after I got back from my second tour.”
Staci wrapped her arms around his waist. “She sounds perfect.” There was a note of something pained in her voice, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“She almost was.”
Silence surrounded them. Staci was waiting for the rest of the story, but he didn’t know if he could tell it. Didn’t know if he could survive another chest wound. Rehashing the past didn’t do him any good. He’d never talked with Ashley about it, barely said two words to Matt right after the funeral. There wasn’t much to say.
“What happened?”
He’d never said the words aloud. Four years and everyone who should know did. He’d never had to speak them. A fist around his heart made him doubt if he even could. But he wanted Staci to know. For some reason it was important that she understand his past and why they could have no future. He squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “I was on a short mission, and she was killed in a carjacking gone wrong about a month before we were supposed to get married.”
He shook his head and dropped his arms. He couldn’t hold Staci so close and grieve for Phoebe, too. It was just too much. Stepping back, forcing Staci to release her grip as well, he stared into her face. Pity and tears shone in her emerald eyes, but she didn’t look away.
“I am so sorry.” She blinked and rubbed a knuckle under each of her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
Jabbing one hand through his hair, the other firmly planted on his hip, he did the last thing he normally would. He looked away. It was too hard to meet her gaze. “I was gone, and I couldn’t protect her. I lost my chance for a future and a family in a split second. And I was thirteen thousand miles away.”
He covered his head with his hand, bending his neck until his chin met his chest. His words were still tinged with bitterness, the pain still so acute. Yet somehow he felt the tiniest bit lighter inside.
