by Tawny Weber
He loved the feel of her fingers, slender and warm in his. Relief so intense it made him want to drop to his knees poured through him. She was here. He’d got her out alive, safe and sound.
He couldn’t claim he’d never been worried on a mission. Since Phil’s death, worry was a second skin, always looming, never comfortable. But scared? He’d never understood real fear until he’d opened that file and realized Alexia was his target. He’d used the fear, iced it down and applied it to fuel his moves, to make sure he was hypervigilant. To get Alexia to safety.
They weren’t quite there yet. But at the sight of her smile, watching her come back to life as the terror started to fade, he was filled with so many emotions he’d never felt before. It made him wish for things he’d never thought of. Made him care, way too much. Cade had accused him of mooning over Alexia. Blake realized now he’d just been waiting.
And if he’d had the words, if he had a clue what to say, he’d have made some big emotional declaration.
His gut clenched, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
He owed his life to those warning signals, so he automatically stopped, mentally gauging the danger.
Alexia, he realized.
She wasn’t a threat to his physical safety.
She was a threat to his way of life.
If he let these emotions grow, he’d give in to anything she asked. Like leaving the military. Giving up his career. Growing out his hair. Hell, he was pretty sure he’d even get one of those dogs women carried in their purses if she asked.
Slowly, trying not to make a show of it and get her upset again, he released her hand.
He’d rather have the fear back.
Or at least that nice safe distance time and her anger had provided. Because now that she was here, right here in front of him again? With all these crazy thoughts and emotions going on? She was a bigger danger than the wannabe terrorist and his cadre of idiots back there.
“I guess hand-holding really is a part of your job description,” she said, her laugh a little stiff. He wondered if she’d been hit with emotional overload, too. He doubted it. She’d already faced the threat of her life’s destruction. Flicking him off again probably didn’t even register.
Good. He just had to keep it that way. Make sure his position as a SEAL, his connection with her father, stayed clear in her mind.
That’d keep her hands off him.
And hopefully he had enough training and self-discipline to keep his own off her.
Before he could dismiss the hand-holding as a nothing gesture, or figure out a way to bring her dad into the conversation, the radio light flashed, a low buzz indicating a message was coming in.
Saved by an unexpected communiqué. Not wanting to alarm Alexia, he kept his smile in place.
“Well, hand-holding and answering the phone. Or radio, in this case,” he said, walking over to see what was there.
His expression didn’t change as he read the intel.
The compound belonged to one Hector Lukoski. The son of a known terrorist with Syrian ties, Lukoski was trying to make a name for himself apart from his father. Well trained in defensive measures, he had an underground hideout. The team had confirmed that there was only one way in or out, and had it covered. But short of blowing his lair up around him, they were forced to lay siege and wait. No action would be taken until new orders were issued, at least twelve hours from now.
He tapped a few keys to signal that the message was received.
Alexia wasn’t going to like the news.
Nor, he remembered, was he supposed to tell her.
The message was in code, so she wouldn’t have to know. Wouldn’t have to worry. His brain raced, pulling together a plan. He’d make her some hot chocolate, dim the lights and talk her into going to sleep.
It wasn’t a very elaborate plan, but sometimes simple was best.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Just a weather report,” he said, tapping the screen. “It looks like it’s going to snow.”
“Ha-ha.” Giving him a narrow look, she got stiffly to her feet and, after taking a second to bend in half and touch her toes, she crossed to the bank of radios and monitors and peered at the message.
“A weather report? Seriously?”
“SOP is to check in every two hours. A weather report is a simple message to use. If it was somehow intercepted, it says nothing. And it’s always good to know the weather.”
He couldn’t tell if she was buying it or not. That was the trouble with Alexia. Half the time, she was an open book, easy to read and ready to share. The other half made him feel like an untrained schoolboy trying to talk to his first girl. Clueless and inept.
“Well, at least the navy has a handle on the weather,” she finally said.
His shoulders relaxed and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He didn’t want her worrying. Which would be fine if it was because her worrying would make the mission more difficult. But he knew that wasn’t why. It was because he hated the idea of her suffering in any way.
Cade was right. He had a problem.
“Ready for some hot chocolate?” he asked, doing what he always did when faced with a problem. Taking it down one step at a time.
“Sure.” She glanced at the now-blank screen again, then followed him over to take her seat at the table. “Can I help? It seems like you’re always cooking for me.”
That’s because with the exception of the field rations they’d just had, he’d ended up eating a bit of every meal off her naked body.
Don’t go there, he warned himself. His imagination didn’t listen, though. As he heated the water to mix with powdered milk, his brain threw out a dozen or so images of the way Alexia had looked covered in plum jelly. Or in cream sauce. Or in soapy bubbles that slid, slow and thick, down her bare breast. The tip beaded in pouting delight, just waiting for his tongue.
“Shit,” he muttered, shaking the splash of hot water off his hand. Focus, dammit. He removed the pot of boiling water from the burner, dumped the white powder in and stirred.
“You’re making a mess,” Alexia said, tilted almost sideways in her chair so she could see what he was doing. “Are you sure I can’t help?”
Blake looked down at the table. The burner was sizzling with specks of watery milk. Powder pooled around the pot like mounds of snow. He’d stirred so hard that the back of his hand looked as if he had white freckles.
“Here,” he said, pushing the pot, spoon and chocolate powder toward her. “Have at it.”
Needing to move, wishing for action—any action that didn’t involve Alexia’s naked body—he strode over to the monitors to check the display, then to the tent flap, pulling down the pseudocurtain and looking out.
It was still white.
Go figure.
“Did you want some?”
Some of her? Oh, yeah.
“No. Thanks,” he added, trying to soften the bark. He glanced back to see she’d poured half the mixture into a tin cup. She held up the pot, looking at him questioningly.
He really needed to get a grip. This was just an adrenaline-induced loss of control, combined with seeing someone he’d been obsessing over. No big deal.
Time for phase two of his plan. Get her the hell to sleep.
He crossed the tent, reaching for the pot. Their fingers brushed. He wanted more. He was desperate to touch her again. Even if it was only her fingertips or her hair. He still had dreams about that hair. She’d brushed it back into some twisting rope, the red glowing in the soft lamplight. He remembered the feel of her hair in his hands, trailing down his body. The silky feel, the sweet scent.
In an instant, he went from soldier to man.
Horny, turned on and ready to rock, man.
“How is it?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.
“Surprisingly good.” She sipped again, then arched one brow. “Are you sure you won’t have some?”
“I’m
still full from dinner,” he said. And desperate for more space than the small tent allowed. “But you must be exhausted. Why don’t you finish your drink, then try to get some rest.”
“I was hoping we could chat.” Her smile was sweetly mischievous, making Blake want to howl and beat on something. She was supposed to be overwrought. Not cute, dammit. He’d never had to fight off all these sexual and emotional needs while he was on duty before. And couldn’t say he was liking the new experience much.
“Chat? About what?” he asked.
“I thought we’d talk about why you were assigned this mission. If hand-holding isn’t your usual thing, then what is?”
“I’m the radioman. Communications, languages, they’re my usual things.”
“That’s kind of funny,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound as if she was enjoying the humor. She stared into her cup for a second, then met his eyes. “We’re both communications specialists.”
She stopped there, as if she were standing against the door between now and then and wasn’t sure she wanted to open it.
“And you think we didn’t communicate,” he said, figuring they had to step through the door sooner or later.
“You think we did?” she asked.
Her tone wasn’t challenging. It was simply curious. He wondered if she’d burned through her supply of negative emotions. He’d seen it before. It was like watching someone hit rock bottom, so they operated in an emotional vacuum. It wouldn’t last. But as chickenshit as it was, he sure hoped they were picked up before she tapped into a new supply.
He hesitated before responding, though. There was a good chance she still had plenty of mad tucked away in there. And despite his wanting distance between them, this was a damn small tent to be sharing with a pissed-off woman. Still, he could only answer honestly.
“I thought we communicated just fine. We were focused on one thing, and we got our wants and needs across to each other pretty damn well.”
Something flared in her dark eyes. Interest. Heat. A dangerous curiosity. Blake braced himself. But as quick as it’d flamed, she banked it. With short, deliberate moves, she set the cup on the table and got to her feet.
“It just hit me how exhausted I am. I’m going to go ahead and sleep.”
He didn’t let the relief pour in until she’d climbed onto the cot, still fully clothed, and covered herself with the thermal blanket. To help her along, he dimmed all the lights.
“Good night,” he said quietly.
She didn’t answer for a second. Then, her voice a sigh, she said, “’Night. And thank you.”
11
BLAKE LISTENED to Alexia’s breathing. As if he could coax her into relaxing, he breathed along with her, slowing, soothing. After a few minutes, he knew she was asleep.
That’s when he let himself relax.
He should sleep. The perimeter alarms were on. If anything heavier than snow crossed them, he’d know. Still, he hesitated. He didn’t trust Alexia’s safety to machines.
For just a second, he let his frustration at being on this side, tucked away from the action, pound through him. He wasn’t made for sitting it out. Not even with a beautiful woman.
His watch set to ping him in thirty minutes, he forced himself to sink into the cot. Eyes closed, he tried to put everything—especially the woman sleeping three feet away—out of his mind. If he wanted to keep her safe, he had to be in top form. To be in top form, he needed sleep. He wouldn’t sleep if he was imagining her naked except for those leather combat boots.
It was the boots that did it. He focused all his attention on those, and slowly felt himself sinking into a doze. He was a breath away from sleep when he heard something.
He jackknifed up and flew from his cot. He pulled a sobbing Alexia into his arms.
“Baby, it’s okay,” he soothed, brushing the damp tendrils of hair off her face. By the lights of the monitors, he could see the terror in her eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about anymore. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“Hold me,” she begged, wrapping her arms so tightly around his waist, his breath shortened. “Don’t let me go. Don’t let anything happen.”
“I’m holding you.” To back up his claim, he ran his hands up and down the back of her thick sweater.
“Hold me tighter. I’ve never been so scared, Blake. I close my eyes and I can see him again. See the glee in his nasty rat face as he threatened me. He promised to let his men do horrible things to me.”
Fury pounded through him, racing past frustration and damn near knocking out his control.
“You’re safe,” he told her again, brushing a kiss against the silkiness of her hair.
He didn’t know if it was because she needed the assurance of seeing his expression, or if it was a reaction to that kiss. But Alexia peeled her cheek off his chest and leaned back. Just far enough that they could look into each other’s eyes. Feel each other’s breath on their faces. Blake knew he should get up. He was on duty. He was sworn to protect her. Hell, her father had handpicked him to keep her safe.
Every reason—and there were a lot—that he should get the hell up and away from her crossed his mind.
He looked into her eyes, the dark heat there calling to him, touching something in his heart that he couldn’t resist.
“Just letting you know ahead of time, this is a huge mistake and I’m sorry,” he said.
Her brow furrowed, but before she could ask what he meant, he kissed her.
* * *
IT WAS LIKE WAKING from a nightmare and finding herself safe, cocooned in pleasure. Like coming home. As Blake’s lips sank into hers, Alexia felt right for the first time in months. His mouth was so soft, so sweet. His body so warm and hard as his arms enfolded her and held her close.
She wanted more. Needed him with a desperate, clawing need. With him, she was safe. With him, she was whole.
Her mouth moved under his, their lips sliding together then slipping apart. At his touch, the tension and terror that had gripped her fell away. At his kiss, the horrified images of the last four days dissipated, like smoke.
He was heaven, pure and simple. It was as if nothing could scare her, nothing could hurt her as long as he was close.
Slowly, he released her lips and pulled away. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, trying to keep him from moving, from leaving.
“You were crying,” he said, his fingers gently wiping dampness she hadn’t even realized was streaked over her cheeks before sliding along her hair to cup the back of her head.
Well, that was hot. Nothing sexier than sobbing in your sleep. Alexia frowned, her shoulders drooping, right along with her sexual bubble.
“That’s why you kissed me? Because I was crying?”
He hesitated. She could tell he was debating. The easy way, or the truth. She should make it simpler for him. After all, the man had rescued her from a stinking lunatic. But she wanted more, she wanted...well, hard. Him hard. Better yet, him hard inside her.
“I kissed you because I couldn’t resist,” he said, his fingers now sliding into the braid at the back of her head, loosening her hair, massaging her scalp in a way that made her want to purr. “I shouldn’t have, though.”
The tension that had been building again started to fade. Joy bubbled up, filling her smile with a little extra sparkle. Excitement started growing again as the hope of sex, and yes, those incredible fingers, worked their magic.
“Why not?” she whispered, her hands roaming his back, delighting in the play of strong muscles beneath his shirt. Her reasons why not were a mile long.
Better to focus on his reasons instead. That way she could brush them aside and get on to the good stuff.
“Because you’re you and I’m me.”
“Ah.” Alexia couldn’t help it. She laughed. “That’s succinct.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. He gave her a serious, peering-all-the-way-into-her-soul kind of look instead.
“You’re the admiral’s daug
hter. I’m a SEAL. You’re looking for a transparent, open relationship. I live in the shadows. You’re the victim under my protection. I’m charged with the mission of getting you home safe.”
As if his words had flipped open the tent flap, the chill of reality crept over her. Alexia’s fingers stopped caressing his back, then slowly fell away.
Looked as if their lists were pretty similar after all.
“Well, those are some solid reasons,” she acknowledged quietly. How could she argue with her own justifications? If they both had them, they were even more rational than just her making them up in her own head, right?
Alexia sighed, wishing she could go back to believing that she was overreacting.
On his face she saw the same frustration, the same reluctance that she felt. He eased away.
She shivered, her body instantly missing his warmth. She wanted to pull the blankets around her, but doing so would mean he had to move. And sex or no sex, she wanted—needed—him close for as long as she could keep him.
“Yeah. Good solid reasons why we should keep things smart,” he said, sitting upright. He shoved one hand through his hair, making it stand up in short spikes, and gave Alexia a stiff smile. The only reason she was able to smile back was because she could see that stiffness echoed in his tented fatigues.
Her breath caught in her chest, adding to the surreal buzzing she heard in her head. It was like standing, starving, outside a bakery, staring at a window display of her very favorite, most decadently delicious pastries. Or in this case, cannoli. Her eyes traced the ridge of his pants and she corrected that to jumbo cannoli.
“Smart is good,” she agreed absently.
“Smart is necessary,” he told her, his words a little more clipped than usual. He was only saying them because it was the right thing to do, she realized.
“We’re two intelligent, mature adults who know how to control our urges.” Her fingers traced a design on his thigh, reveling in the corded muscles she could feel, even through the heavy cotton of his pants. Slowly, as if she was sneaking up on it, her fingers trailed closer and closer to the ridge of his impressive erection.
