Navy Rescue

by Geri Krotow

  “Um, you’re heavy.” She shifted beneath him.

  He immediately slid off her. “I’m sorry, Gwen. Are you okay?”

  She kept her head turned to the side, looking at the back of the couch.

  “I’m fine.”

  More than fine, as far as her sexual satisfaction was concerned. The last vestige of her sanity, however, was hanging by a thread thinner than a cobweb.

  He maneuvered until he sat on the edge of the sofa cushion, leaning with his arm on the back of the couch. His breath fanned her bare breasts, her neck. She couldn’t move her head but he did it for her, his fingers on her chin.

  “Look at me, Gwen.”

  Her lids were heavier than a hundred-pound bench press as she opened her eyes.

  Drew’s revealed nothing but male forthrightness. “Did I hurt you?” he murmured. “Be honest.”

  “No.”

  He smiled with a hint of satisfaction. “Did you—?” His raised his left brow. He’d always been the most polite lover. Even if she’d screamed to hell and back with her orgasm, he always asked if she’d come.

  “Yes. You know I did.” Her face felt hot with self-recrimination.

  “Don’t regret this, Gwen, and don’t feel bad about it.”

  His chest rose with a determined sigh. A girl could get lost looking at all that muscle, the sprinkling of hair over his pecs.

  “Can we get dressed before we have this discussion?”

  “Sure.” He eased away from her and she shivered.

  They dressed in silence, which involved her pulling on her robe.

  “I’m going to get some real clothes on.” She got herself another cup of coffee before she went upstairs.

  * * *

  SON OF A BITCH.

  He hadn’t been able to keep his dick in his jeans for more than five minutes once he was alone with Gwen.

  As remarkable as their sex always was, it came with a price. Either it drew them closer, the way it had in the earlier years of their marriage, or it made Gwen angry, blaming him for using their sexual attraction as a weapon.

  He wasn’t in the mood for her blame, but neither was he prepared for his own disgust with himself.

  What had gotten into him? He’d promised himself he’d do right by her, give her a wide berth, a chance to heal. Sure, he knew he was still attracted to her, yet he’d thought he’d be able to handle it. “Good morning, sailor!”

  “Shut up, Rosie.”

  Rosie replied with several grunts and a scream that was distinctly Gwen’s. Damn bird had learned their sex sounds early on, and there was no stopping her when she heard them. What used to be a private joke between him, Gwen and the damned bird was now plain cruelty.

  He went about preparing buckwheat pancakes, Gwen’s favorite. They both needed the soothing rush of carbs. Maybe it would keep their post-sex, aka The Big Mistake, conversation less emotional.

  “Woof!” Nappie was at the sliding door, asking to go out. Drew turned off the stove burner and stepped out onto the deck as he let the dog out. She raced down the steps to the grassy area below. More like waddled—she was aging faster with every month.

  The passage of years hit Drew in the gut. He still remembered the first time he and Gwen had made love. They’d been fresh out of college, both in flight training. It’d been after a long night of first sharing drinks at a pub in downtown Pensacola, then talking on the beach.

  Life had been simpler then. So had their lovemaking.

  What just happened this morning was beyond any expectation his younger self had regarding sex. Life was changing. Maybe even transcendent.

  Complicated.

  He scratched his head. There was only one way to deal with this.

  * * *

  GWEN WAS GORGEOUS in her simple white zippered sweatshirt and blue jeans when she joined him at the dining-room table after her shower.

  “You look good. Feeling better?” Crap, he sounded as if he was fourteen.

  She didn’t flinch. “Yes.” Sitting down, she picked up a fork. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “That can’t happen again. We’re friends. Friends don’t, don’t...”

  He nodded.

  “I mean it, Drew. I don’t know what came over us.”

  “I’m sorry, Gwen, and I agree. We won’t do that again. Before you go blaming yourself or me, however, take a step back. Don’t you think it’s only natural after what you’ve been through?” He bit his tongue. He sounded like a doctor speaking to a reticent patient.

  “What I’ve been through? What makes you think that living through terrorist hell made me want to come back and screw your brains out?” Tears made her eyes glitter and he’d be damned if he’d cause any more of her sadness.

  “You know I don’t think that. But...we never said goodbye.”

  She stared at him. “Goodbye?”

  He shrugged. “Most couples have goodbye sex at the end of a relationship. It’s not uncommon for divorcing spouses to have a round or two under the sheets before it’s all over.”

  “And your source on this is?”

  He wanted to laugh at her haughty tone.

  “Just observation. Here, have some syrup.” He passed her a bottle of marionberry syrup, her favorite. He’d seen it at the local produce stand when he picked up the fresh beets and other produce for her first few days back. He’d never been the cook during their marriage, and he’d looked forward to showing her what he’d learned.

  Bullshit. You just want to make her happy.

  “Well, this is a heck of a time to check that off the list.” She bit into the fluffy pancakes and he waited to see if they’d turned out okay.

  “Mmm, these are delicious.”

  Phew.

  “Glad you like them.”

  She pinned him with her hazel eyes. “Back to what you said. If that’s true, then we just had a major farewell party.”

  He laughed. “I’d say so, yes.”

  “Now we can move on, and still be friends. Is that the idea?” She eyed him with a sharpness he’d missed. No one challenged him like Gwen did. No one else pushed him to his limits, made him want to be the best man he could be.

  “So I’m told.” He wished he could enjoy the meal a fraction as much as Gwen appeared to. It all tasted like paper in his mouth. Even his coffee tasted burnt.

  “I need one last favor from you, Drew.”

  “Whatever you want. Shoot.” Whatever she wanted. Whatever it took to let her walk away without feeling diminished by it.

  Her stare forced him to see the truth in himself. He had to get out of this with some semblance of himself intact, too, or he’d die another death like he did when they’d divorced. And again when she’d been lost at sea...

  It was simple. He couldn’t go through losing her again. The only way to prevent her loss was not to open up to her.

  “What is it, Gwen?”

  “I may need you to vouch for my mental and emotional stability until the adoption clears.”

  * * *

  SHE WATCHED HIM as he rubbed his hand over his face.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” He sighed, leaned back in his chair and looked at her. She ignored the sizzle she got from staring into his eyes. “I admit I feel like a complete shit. You’ve been through hell and back. You’re not on your home turf for twenty-four hours and I jump you like a horny dog.”

  She swallowed. It wasn’t a lump in her throat; she was just tired.

  “You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want, Drew.” He was apologizing for that sex? It had been earth-shattering. “It’s crazy—I’m like a ghost. When’s the last time you could say you screwed a ghost?”

  Her one-liners needed work.

 
; She wanted to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, make him see that she was fine, it was all fine, their lovemaking didn’t mean anything more to her than an expression of confused emotion.

  Touching Drew was off-limits.

  She stayed in the oak chair.

  “You still try to get in the last word, Gwen. That’s a sure sign the jungle didn’t take everything from you.”

  “No, it didn’t.”

  “And now you think you want to adopt a kid?”

  “Not a kid, Drew. A little baby named Pax. I rescued him from a burned-out village. His mother saved him by covering her body with his.”

  “I know. It’s been all over CNN. That you rescued a baby, not that you want to adopt him, though.”

  Trepidation roiled her insides. “What else did the news reports say?”

  “That you escaped an insurgent camp, were taken in by a friendly villager after you found the baby.”

  “I wish Pax wasn’t involved in the story at all. If—” she swallowed a sob “—if I don’t get to adopt him, he deserves a fair start without this history.”

  “They didn’t show any photos, Gwen. The stories have revolved around you and the survival of other women in combat POW camps.”

  His unspoken question hung between them.

  “I told you the truth. I wasn’t raped, Drew.”

  His expression remained neutral except for the emotion in his eyes. Of course a good friend would be relieved. “I’m glad.”

  “It was going to happen—but I got out before they figured out what do to with me. I imagine the media already has me raped, tortured, you name it.”

  “Not really. But they do mention it happens more often than it doesn’t. I knew you’d get out of there, Gwen, but I feared the worst, too.”

  She hadn’t so much as turned on a television since she’d crawled out of the jungle with Pax. There hadn’t been an opportunity at the embassy in the PI, and by the time she’d been left alone in her hospital room at Madigan, she’d been too exhausted to do anything but curl up under the covers.

  “You have no idea what an impression you’ve made on people, Gwen. You’ve become a national hero.”

  “It’ll die down soon enough.” They both knew that as soon as an unfortunate natural or terrorist disaster occurred, her story would be relegated from national media to the local paper until all interest died.

  “Don’t be so sure. The point being that with the popularity of your survival story, you have the support of the American people for your adoption. Contact your congressman—you won’t have a problem getting whatever you want.”

  “Now who’s treating Pax like a prize, a thing? It’s not so simple, Drew. It’s nice that people think they know me from a few sound bites but public opinion has nothing to do with a very private family matter like adoption. The State Department has weighed in, and that helps, but if it turns out that Pax has any living relatives, I’m out. Philippine law would place him with his family before me.”

  “You’d still have options, wouldn’t you? If he has any living family, wouldn’t they agree to allow you to adopt him, to give him a life they could never afford?”

  She shook her head. She’d asked the diplomats the same questions, gone through every possibility concerning her chances of adopting Pax.

  “They probably wouldn’t, and it’s not something I can risk thinking about. I have to make my case as strong as possible and pray that the legalities go through before anyone shows up claiming to be his relative.”

  “You know people can start coming out of the woodwork.”

  “For the money? I know. It’s why State is trying to keep it quiet, to prevent an avalanche of false relative claims.”

  She watched him. Her senses were still hyperalert, and she didn’t want to think how long it might take them to ease up, for the urge to jump out of her skin to vanish, if ever.

  His face remained drawn, and his head rested on the back of the chair. His arms were folded across his chest and it didn’t take a trained psychologist to know he was keeping her out, keeping up his defenses against the enemy.

  She’d become his enemy. She knew him better than anyone, or at least she once had, and she was in his sanctuary, under his roof.

  Asking him to vouch for her, to verify that she hadn’t lost her mind.

  The brief intimacy they’d shared on the sofa disintegrated, and she’d never felt more awkward, more unsure of where she stood with him.

  Had it been this bad before she’d left?

  You never talked about real stuff—you’d been living separate lives for years.

  He raised his head and sat up, leaning forward with his elbows on the heavy oak table.

  She met his gaze and knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “I won’t lie to the doctors or social workers if I don’t think you’re physically or emotionally ready to adopt a baby, Gwen.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “YOU CAN’T TELL me in the same breath that you’ll be my friend, my support, as I enter my real life, and then shut me down so quickly. I’m only asking you for one thing!”

  Her shaky expression didn’t match her angry words.

  God, she didn’t get it. Didn’t get that he’d been through hell, too. Every day she was missing he’d lived alongside her in his mind, his heart. He saw the look of disappointment and betrayal in her eyes.

  “A baby’s not a puppy, Gwen. How are you going to raise a kid when you can hardly take care of yourself yet? And what about commanding your squadron?”

  “Who said I’m going to command a squadron? Let’s be real. It’s not my squadron anymore.” There were tears glistening in her eyes again, the amber flecks in stark contrast to her green irises. Gwen, the steely warrior who’d rarely cried in all the years they’d been together, was about to shed a waterfall.

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  She played with the marble eggs on their mantel. They’d bought them in Carrera, Italy, from the same quarry where Michelangelo had excavated the marble for his David. Drew couldn’t watch the way her long, pale fingers played across the smooth surfaces. Those fingers could make him hard in an instant, had always exerted the right amount of pressure....

  “The XO’s been doing my job just fine. He’s been the acting CO for over six months. No one expected me to come back, as you’ve so politely pointed out. As it is, there are only about six months left in my command, all on shore.” Her tired voice lacked her usual level of annoyance with him. He’d do anything to have the once-familiar tough Gwen back, no matter what the cost to him.

  His fists ached to take out the terrorists who’d captured her, beaten her. If he could erase whatever had broken her like this, he’d do it, regardless of the cost.

  All the more reason to help her get well.

  “You’re a freakin’ hero, Gwen. They’re not going to keep you from finishing out your command. In style!”

  “Maybe I don’t want it anymore.” It was the merest whisper. Her hands shook and she shoved them in the pockets of her favorite hoodie. The one he’d bought her at an alumni reunion at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. When all her classmates had congratulated her war-proven pilot skills, years before she faced her destiny in the jungle.

  A bark of laughter escaped his chest. “Were you smoking something I’m not aware of while you were in the jungle?” This wasn’t the Gwen he’d come to know in the past few years.

  She looked like the little girl he’d caught glimpses of whenever they’d gone back to her hometown. Twice in the entire time they’d been together. Once for her father’s suicide, once more when her mother remarried.

  “I don’t want my career anymore, Drew. Not like I did before.”

  “Before what?”

  Her eyes widen
ed and in an instant the hard Gwen was back. Ice dripped from her voice as she replied. “Before I spent the last six months fighting for my life, praying I’d make it back here. The last four months of my time there, Pax was the only thing that kept me going, kept my sanity.”

  Not Drew, not hope for reconciliation.

  But why should her survival have had anything to do with him? They’d secretly lived as no more than roommates, in separate rooms, with separate lives, for a year before the divorce. That made six years of no intimacy, no confiding in each other.

  “Let’s take it as it comes,” he said with finality. He’d put too much pressure on her by giving in to his baser instincts.

  She nodded, as if in understanding.

  He knew her, knew her so very well. She’d be assuming he had to think about it because he couldn’t wait to get rid of her, to finally be on his own again.

  In fact, he needed to get his heart back where it belonged—without crushing it. He needed to be her friend.

  * * *

  THEY PUSSYFOOTED AROUND each other for the rest of the day, keeping conversation light and mostly about Nappie and Rosie. Gwen seemed restless, and he’d suggested a walk, but the way the wind howled and the house creaked they both agreed she’d probably be blown away. Instead, she napped and read the books Drew had left in the master bedroom.

  Neither spoke much during dinner, but she made sure to compliment him on the chili and rice he’d prepared.

  “The cornbread was good, Drew. I never knew you could bake like this.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, baking was your arena—as you’ve reminded me.”

  The woodstove crackled as they sat across from each other in the great room. She watched his face but his expression remained unreadable. He obviously wasn’t going to resume their earlier conversation, so she dived in.

  “I never meant to suggest that I wanted you to lie about my mental state, Drew.”

  His silence brought back the anxiety that had plagued her since she’d handed Pax over to the Philippine social worker in Manila. The only thing keeping her from full-fledged panic was her belief that deep down, below the constant tension between her and Drew, they still had some type of bond. That Drew was a good guy and would go the extra mile because it was the right thing to do.