Ace had hopped the first military transport he could find. And he’d made it to Ramstein in time, but—
“Was he injured in the attempt?” Rusty broke into his thoughts, and Ace blinked open his eyes.
Rusty and Glen couldn’t be more physically different. Where Glen had been short and lean, Rusty was tall and bulky. Where Glen had been dark-haired and tawny skinned, Rusty had a mop of auburn hair and too many freckles to count. But they were both exceedingly gentle men. Both quick to defend. Both willing to volunteer their help to whomever needed it.
Too bad both of them refused to accept who they were.
“The Taliban shot him in the stomach when they heard the SEALs coming.” Ace grimaced at the pain he knew Glen had suffered in his final days. “He survived for nearly forty-eight hours. He might have survived indefinitely had he not already been weakened by the torture.”
“And you couldn’t go to him, even under the auspices of friendship?” There was a sheen in Rusty’s eyes. Such tenderness for such a big, brutal-looking man. The only thing that softened his handsomely craggy face was a set of dimples to die for.
“Oh, I went to him all right. Just as fast as I could. And I actually got there in time. An hour before he passed, in fact. But the doctors were only allowing family”—Ace spat out the word like it was poison—“in the room. And since I couldn’t tell anyone that Glen and I had secretly married in New Hampshire the previous fall, I wasn’t family.”
For a second, Ace was quiet, his mind having traveled back to that awful day. Then, before he even realized he’d opened his mouth, the last of the story poured from him. “I tried to sneak in, but some nurses caught me. I begged his family to let me see him one last time, but his mother and his sister said his final moments should be spent with family, not friends. I would have told them all to go fuck themselves, but I knew Glen wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t have wanted a scene, wouldn’t have wanted his family’s last memory to be of me bawling my eyes out by his side and telling him how much I loved him. So I didn’t get to say my goodbyes. I didn’t get to hold his hand at the end. I was left to wait in the hall like an afterthought. Like a nobody.”
“Jiminy Christmas.” Rusty ran a hand through his hair, causing the loose, bouncy curls to riot. “I’m so sorry, man. That’s… It’s awful.”
“Yeah.” Ace nodded. “And it’s one of millions of stories like it. Lord knows I’m not the first homosexual partner to be kept out of a hospital room because in the eyes of whichever law or policy I wasn’t technically family. Or the first one who didn’t receive spousal death benefits. Or the first one who didn’t get a damn say in funeral arrangements.”
Tears of rage burned the back of his nose. It was an old wound. But it was still raw. “Glen wanted to be cremated.” His voice was a bitter parody of itself. “He wanted his ashes released at thirty-five thousand feet so he could become one with the open sky he loved so much. But it didn’t matter what he wanted or what I told his family he wanted. They got to decide what to do with him. Which means now he’s moldering away in the family plot.”
“You didn’t tell his family what you were to him?” Rusty searched his eyes. “Even after he died?”
“Ha!” Ace’s laugh held no humor. “How could I? He hadn’t told them in life, so I couldn’t ignore his wishes in death. I loved him too much, respected him too much for that.”
For a while, nothing but silence passed between them. Then Ace sighed and said, “So now you know why I have a problem with homosexuals remaining closeted. In the end, it always causes more pain.”
“For you, maybe.” Rusty’s jaw hardened. Those damnably tempting dimples in his cheeks deepened. “But his family… They aren’t suffering more. They’re probably suffering less. Their memories of Glen are untainted by—”
“Stop right there.” Ace held up a hand. His sorrow was instantly replaced by red-hot anger. “If you’re about to say their memories of Glen are untainted by the fact that he was gay, then stop right there!” He realized he was shouting again. “There is nothing shameful or tainted about who or what Glen was. And his family might be able to keep their memories of him, but they are wrong memories. Wouldn’t it have been better if they had really known him? For fuck’s sake!”
Rusty shook his head, his expression something Ace could only describe as obdurate.
Desire and rage and blistering remorse mixed together and became a dangerous cocktail. Ace swallowed it whole. Let it fill him up. At least that’s what he convinced himself of and the thing he blamed for what happened next.
Fisting a hand in Rusty’s hair, he yanked the former marine’s head down for a kiss.
The instant their lips touched, Ace was deconstructed, reduced to his most basic elements. Because Rusty’s mouth was warm and soft, and his big hands grabbed Ace’s shoulders. To pull him closer? To push him away? Ace wasn’t sure. He simply redoubled his efforts until the sound of the door flying open on squeaky hinges had him ripping his mouth away.
“I know we’re not much for privacy,” he snarled, “but ever think of knocking?”
“Uh…sorry,” Emily said from the doorway. Behind her stood Christian and Angel. Christian looked shocked. Angel looked impassive, as always.
“I heard shouting and thought… Never mind.” Emily shook her head. “I’ll just close the door and let you two get back to…uh…doing what you were doing.”
“Don’t bother,” Ace told her, desperately trying to catch his breath. “I’m done. I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish.”
“And what was that?” Rusty’s voice was hoarse. Guttural. And maybe just a little bit shaky.
Good to know Ace wasn’t the only one suffering the aftershocks of that explosive kiss.
“To show you what you’re missing. And hoping that the loss of something like this”—he motioned back and forth between them—“might give you an idea of how much it’s worth.”
* * *
Christian hopped out of the way when Ace slammed through the door.
“Close your mouth, Christian,” Ace snarled as he stalked by. “Or else you’ll catch flies.”
“Sorry.” Christian snapped his mouth shut. “I’m simply…surprised is all.”
Ace spun. Christian felt Angel and Emily shuffle behind him to avoid being inadvertently hit by the flaming eye arrows Ace shot his way. The cowards!
“What? You’ve never seen two men kissing before?”
“No.” Christian was quick to shake his head. “It’s not that. It’s that I’ve never seen you kissing before. All these years you’ve been playing the part of a monk. I only thought…” You’d decided to eschew all romantic entanglements after your husband died.
He daren’t say that last part aloud. He’d learned the subject of Ace’s husband was strictly off-limits. Ace turned green and clammed up anytime the man’s name was mentioned.
“What?” Ace advanced on him until there were only a few feet separating them. “What did you think?”
Any other time, Christian would have risen to the challenge in Ace’s eyes. He wasn’t one to back down from a fight. But he knew the flyboy’s frustration didn’t have anything to do with him. It had everything to do with the redheaded colossus standing slack-jawed in the room behind them. Christian just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Well, that, and he couldn’t seem to say the right thing to bring Ace’s boil down to a simmer.
Then it hit him. Ace was boiling. Colby “Ace” Ventura was actually boiling!
Christian fought a smile. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Ace was a good man. A caring man. A loyal man. Sure, he liked to bust his teammates’ bollocks, and he had a bothersome habit of stealing Christian’s perfectly toasted bagels out of the oven when Christian wasn’t looking. But when push came to shove, there was no denying one simple fact: Ace was nice. And
for too many years he’d shut himself off, holding on to his remorse, never letting anyone get close enough to light a fire under his ass. But to Christian’s delight, it looked like Rusty was just the guy to stoke the flames.
“I was thinking it’s about bloody time you let someone in,” Christian said.
Once again, that seemed to be the exact wrong thing to say.
“I’m not letting him in!” Ace pointed an accusatory finger at Rusty. “Because despite every battle the LGBTQ community has fought over the years, he refuses to be out! Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to go punch something. If I can find anything that isn’t five hundred years old and worth a bazillion dollars, that is.”
When Ace turned on his heel, Angel popped out from behind Christian’s back and blurted, “Christian and Emily have decided to do the deed. But they insist on keeping it casual.”
Ace stopped in his tracks, his back still to them.
Emily punched Angel in the shoulder. Then she punched Christian too.
“Ow!” he complained. “Why are you hitting me? I’m not the one who said it.”
“And why are you hitting me?” Angel demanded, what passed as a scowl shadowing his face. “I thought you wanted me to spread the word.”
“Learn to pick your moment, man!” Emily tossed her hands in the air. “Jeez!”
Ace glanced over his shoulder. Some of the heat was gone from his eyes. “Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Christian countered. “That Emily and I have decided to give the ol’ rumpy-pump a go?” He found himself battling the sophomoric urge to scream hell yeah before slapping high fives with everyone in the room. “Yes. It’s true. It’s also true that we’re keeping it casual. Emily wants that made clear. It’s the only way she’s agree to mix business with…pleasure.” He stressed the word and waggled his eyebrows at Emily.
“Oh, for the love of Shoeless Joe Jackson!” she sputtered. The slash of pink in her cheeks made her look fresh and young—and heightened the appeal of her already enticing little beauty mark.
“Good.” Ace nodded. “It’s about time.” Then he trudged down the hall and disappeared around the corner, presumably to find something to hit.
“And with that”—Angel dusted off his hands—“my job here is done. Time for me to head out while there is still light to see by. I can find food for tonight and a car to appropriate for tomorrow.”
Right. They must do that, mustn’t they?
As much as Christian wanted to take Emily’s hand and yank her up those stairs so he could have his way with her, he couldn’t forget the mission came first. Always. Right now, their mission was to do whatever it took to get the hell out of England.
“There’s a sheep farm about a mile east,” he said. He’d seen it on the map of the area he’d pulled up on his mobile after checking for the business hours at the manor house. “I should think it’ll have food and transportation. I’ll come ’round with you to scout it out.”
“I’ll come too,” Rusty volunteered, heading in their direction. He still looked a little shaken and a whole lot peeved by Ace’s kiss.
“No.” Angel shook his head. “I prefer to work alone.”
Christian crossed his arms. “No shit, Sherlock. But we’ll come nonetheless.”
“No.”
That was it. The one word. It was so Angel-like.
“Fine.” Christian shrugged. He didn’t like shirking his duty, but he wasn’t going to embarrass himself by standing there and squabbling. Besides, filching some food and getting a bead on a vehicle didn’t really require three people. Or even two, for that matter.
Not only that, but letting Angel go it alone had the added benefit of affording Christian the opportunity to yank Emily up those stairs so he could have his way with her. “Good luck then,” he said. “I’ll keep my mobile on. If you run into trouble, text me.”
Angel nodded, spun on his heel, and was ’round the corner and off to do decidedly Angel-y things a minute later.
“So.” Christian turned to smile down at Emily, anticipation tightening his belly.
“So.” She bit her lip.
“Uh.” Rusty ran a hand over his jaw. “I think I’ll just…” He didn’t finish the sentence, simply shut the door in their faces.
“Shall we?” Christian offered Emily a hand.
She scowled down at it like it was covered in horse hockey. “Seriously? That’s it? I mean, I know we’re keeping this casual and all that jazz, but a gal could still use a little romance.”
“It’s romance the lady fancies?” Christian’s smile stretched across his face. The anticipation in his belly had turned to ravenous hunger. “Then it’s romance she shall have.”
Without warning, he bent and scooped her into his arms. Yelping, Emily swatted at his chest, but he was undeterred as he traipsed down the hall to the staircase and took the steps two at a time.
Chapter 15
Emily was breathless by the time Christian kicked the door shut on the yellow bedroom. Strange, because she wasn’t the one who’d run up the stairs.
Then again, Christian had stolen her breath the first time they were introduced, and he’d been stealing her breath on a daily basis ever since. Something as innocuous as seeing him playing catch in BKI’s back courtyard with little Franklin, the son of one of their coworkers, or polishing his weapon so it shone as fresh and crisp as the clothes he had tailored to fit him like a glove was enough to have her stopping in her tracks, grabbing the nearest solid surface, and searching for the air that had deserted her lungs.
So, yeah, being in his arms, being carried up a flight of stairs like a heroine in a romance novel, was certainly enough to have her fighting for oxygen.
When he set her on her feet, caging her between his big body and the door—his hands flat on either side of her head, his eyes promising naughty delights and unspeakable intimacies—emotions exploded inside her. They shot up a mushroom cloud that made it impossible to swallow.
There was fear.
There was uncertainty.
There were second thoughts.
Of course, there was desire.
It was all too much. She fell back on the familiar and teased him. “Oooh, what a display of testosterone! Where do you keep it all?”
“Ninety-liter drums in a storage unit back in Chicago.”
She blinked and sputtered. “Did you just make a joke?”
“Mmm.” He leaned forward to brush a finger across her chin, his brilliant-green eyes glued to her lips with laser-like focus.
That’s all it took for the fear and uncertainty and second thoughts and desire to reassert themselves. To swirl around inside her in an amorphous blob that throbbed like a beating heart.
“Christian?” His name was out of her mouth before she realized she wanted to say it.
“Yes, Emily?”
“A-are you sure about th-this?” She hated the vulnerability those halting words revealed. She wanted to project toughness, but in that moment she didn’t know how. The look he gave her was so hot, so hungry, that her knees began to shake.
Damn mutinous things! She was going to have to have a talk with them. Too often recently they’d been failing her when she needed them most.
I am abso-bloody-lutely sure, his expression assured her. Aloud, he said, “I want you.” Those three simple words sounded as sweet the second time as they had the first.
Would they sound as sweet the hundredth time? Or the thousandth time? Or the millionth time?
Whoa, Nelly! That kind of thinking was totally crazy-pants. There wouldn’t be a hundredth time, much less a thousandth time or a millionth time. This was going to be casual. And that meant it was going to be over quickly. A few slam-bam-thank-you-ma’ams, and he’d grow tired of her.
Why that thought should bother her was a mystery she dared not explore.
“And you want me,” he continued, such arrogance, such confidence in his tone as he lifted her hair away from her shoulder and grazed the callused pad of his thumb over a bruise on her neck. Her skin was so sensitive that his touch burned like fire. “So stop overthinking things. And simply”—he leaned close, putting his mouth next to her ear—“give in to me. Give in to this. You know you want to.”
His hot breath swirled inside the shell of her ear, making her toes curl.
“Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you won’t fall in love.”
Slowly, languorously, he pulled back to study her from beneath hooded lids that did nothing to hide the predatory light in his eyes. “I won’t fall in love,” he swore, and even though she knew she should breathe a sigh of relief, it felt more like her lungs were squeezed in a tight fist. “Can you say the same?”
Could she? A sliver of doubt appeared where none had been before. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and his gaze snagged on the move. He rumbled, deep in his chest. It was the sound a hungry lion might make.
Dear, sweet baby Jesus, he was so unspeakably sexy, and he was going to kiss her. She saw his intent. Waited impatiently for the feel of those diametrically opposed lips, for the press of that insistent, uncompromising tongue. But one second stretched to two. Two quickly became ten.
“Christian?” There it was again. His name ripped from her lips without her consent.
Answer me, Emily, his eyes said. Can you say the same?
She nodded jerkily. “You know I can. I explained it to you.” Why did that suddenly sound like a lie?
“Then there’s something you should know before we do this.”
Oh Lord, she thought. Here it comes. This was the part where he confessed to having a bad case of genital warts, or to only liking anal sex, or to wanting to wear her panties on his head while they were doing it.
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