by Tawny Weber
Maybe their five-minute wait was up...
Before he could find out, she leaned back to break the kiss and smiled again.
“So all that hand-holding you do is restricted to the rescue,” she teased. “Not the recovery?”
“We should all do what we do best. And leave the things we do worst for someone else.”
“And what do you do best?”
“Whatever I set my mind to,” he told her. It wasn’t bragging. He was damn good at what he did.
“Do you ever worry?” she asked, her fingers tracing a pattern on his chest, but her eyes locked on his. “Does it ever just seem like it’s too much? The constant living on edge, the missions and danger and never knowing what’s next?”
“It’s my life. Danger, the unexpected. They’re second nature. Like breathing.” Unable to resist those lips, already swollen from his kisses, Blake leaned down to kiss her again.
When he leaned back, she gave him a look that said no distractions allowed. Blake was tempted to see how long it would take to make that look change into passionate surrender.
But finally, with those patient eyes locked on his, he sighed and admitted, “Yeah, sometimes. I didn’t used to worry. I’m serious when I say it’s a job. I’m highly trained, and damn good at what I do. So doing it isn’t a worry.”
“But?”
How did she know there was a but? He replayed his words, his tone. There hadn’t been a but in there, dammit.
“You know, you wasted that psych degree of yours,” he teased, trying to laugh it off.
Despite her smile, she suddenly looked sad. Stressed. He could feel the tension tightening in her lower back.
“What?” he asked. “Why does that bother you?”
“That’s what my father said the last time he spoke to me. He wanted me planted somewhere safe and sound, billing fifty-minute hours and poking into people’s heads.”
Weird. Blake hadn’t taken the admiral to be a touchy-feely, get-in-touch-with-yourself kind of guy.
“I guess parents have their own vision for our lives, and it doesn’t always mesh with our own.”
“Or we have a vision for our own life that doesn’t fit theirs,” she said, her words only a little bitter.
Same thing, he started to say. Then he realized it wasn’t.
“Did yours?” she asked, her fingers tracing a design on his chest. Sliding lower, tighter.
“Did mine what?” he responded absently, all his attention focused on where she’d touch next.
“Did your parents’ vision suit you? Or did your vision suit them?”
Her fingers forgotten, Blake snorted. “I didn’t rate high enough to merit visions. My old man walked out when I was three, and my mother’s view was usually blurred by vodka. She didn’t care what I did. Or what I didn’t do.”
Alexia’s fingers shifted upward, teasing the hair on his chest, then rubbing in sweet, soothing circles.
“She must be proud now, though, right? You’ve been decorated so many times. Won so many honors.”
Blake arched a brow. How did she know what he’d done?
She looked stubborn for a second, then sniffed. “So I checked your records. So what?”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, then kissed the tip of her nose. She was so freaking cute. Her sexiness was blatant, always right there like a punch in the face. Her brains were subtle, a backdrop to the sexy. Again, always there, but not something she shoved down your throat. But the cuteness? The vulnerable sweetness? That’s what got to him. She hid it a lot of the time, so when it peeked out, it was extra special.
“So I’m glad you were curious enough to want to check me out,” he said softly. Then he grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about his past. It wasn’t something he was ashamed of, but it wasn’t his world anymore. Still, honesty deserved honesty, so he told her, “My mother doesn’t care about any of that. I’m not even sure she knows I made the SEAL team. When I refused to send home my paycheck, she wrote me off. Said we were through. It’s been six years and I can’t say I miss her.”
Horror, anger and a sort of recognition all mixed together in Alexia’s expression. She kissed his chin, as if kissing away any hurt he might still feel.
“Even when we don’t care, it still hurts when they close that door, doesn’t it?” she said quietly.
Blake frowned.
“What doors are closed to you?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew. He hated that the admiral, a man he honestly looked up to and thought a great deal of, could be so flawed as a father.
“My father disowned me last fall. Again.”
Last fall?
Shit.
“Because of me?”
Her smile was pure appreciation.
“No, although my unacceptable behavior toward you did trigger the discussion.”
“By discussion you mean fight?”
Alexia gave him a sardonic look. “I thought you knew my father. One doesn’t fight with the admiral. One listens. One obeys. Or one is disowned.”
“I was the trigger. What was the bullet?”
“He doesn’t find my career acceptable. It’s embarrassing to him and my mother that I focus on sexual behavior. They’d rather I use my psych degree working for the government. Or barring that, they want me to go into private practice in a tidy little office somewhere and talk sexual behavior behind closed doors, where it belongs.”
“But you said what you’re doing will help a lot of people.”
“It will. In the last year, it has, actually. We just received a huge grant to further the work, which is probably what brought the wrong kind of attention.” She was quiet for a second, then shifted one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “Fitting, my father would say. To my parents, subliminal programming to heal sexual aberrations is nothing more than self-indulgence for the weak.”
“That’s bullshit.” It pissed him off that she would blame herself, even in a roundabout way, for the kidnapping, or for her parents’ narrow views. “You make a difference. And you love what you do. Don’t let bullies push you into sidestepping that passion. Even if one of them is a terrorist and the other your father.”
Alexia’s tension faded, her body relaxing into his again as she laughed.
“I guess that’s what you do, isn’t it? Stop tyrants from getting away with bullying.”
“That’s one of our specialties,” he confirmed. Blake was always proud to be a SEAL, to serve his country. But seeing the admiration in Alexia’s eyes added a nice layer of muscle to that pride.
“So why did things change?” Her tone was pure compassion, so understanding and sweet that he wanted to lay his head on her shoulder and let every pain he’d ever had drain away. “You said you don’t worry about doing your job. But you worry about something else now, don’t you?”
Blake went as still as if she’d pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed it to him. One wrong move and there would be emotional spattering, all over the place.
“Maybe you can sideline with that psych degree,” he joked stiffly, wondering how the hell she’d circled back. Hadn’t baring her own woes been a distraction? You’d think the sad, pathetic story of his childhood was enough to listen to. She still wanted more?
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, sounding compassionate and soothing. He could feel the hurt in the set of her shoulders, though. See it in the stiffness of her smile. “I just, well, you were hurting before. Last fall. It made me sad to see the unhappiness in your eyes.”
Blake clenched his jaw. She’d known then that he was hurting? Was he that transparent? For just a second, he frowned. That wasn’t why she’d slept with him, was it? Pity sex? As quick as the thought came in, it faded. There had been nothing pitiful between them, and he’d be a fool to start thinking that way.
“That was a rough time,” he said, figuring he could let it go at that. Then, hoping she’d accept it as enough of an excuse, he added, “I’d served on three back-to-back mis
sions and was hitting burnout.”
“That’s got to be hard. Like an adrenaline rush that doesn’t stop. I’d think you’d face quite a lot of exhaustion.” She sounded so understanding that Blake had to close his eyes against the emotions her compassion unleashed. He wanted to kick himself. He’d had access to this much caring, this much sympathy eight months ago. And instead of opening to her, he’d locked everything up tight, deep inside where it could fester and ferment and grow. Damn, he was smart.
“You don’t really notice the exhaustion,” he heard himself saying. “At first, the back-to-back element gives you an edge. You’re always on, always primed. That makes for a pretty effective weapon.”
“But after a while, a bow drawn taut loses its intensity, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. That’s when things happen.”
“What happened?” she whispered, her words a breath of comfort over him. No demand, no surprise, it was as if she’d known there was something aching there and she wasn’t going to pry it loose, but simply wait until it surfaced so she could scoop it away.
“We lost a guy.”
He watched her face as he said it. Waited for the judgment. The shock or horror. But her expression didn’t change. Her dark eyes might have melted a little more, but that was all. Instead, she shifted, leaning closer to brush a soft kiss over his lips.
Comfort.
Healing.
Acceptance.
For the first time since he’d watched the life drain out of his buddy, Blake felt those things. All because of a tiny little kiss.
No, he realized.
Because of Alexia.
He waited. Now that the door was open, she’d ask questions. She was intuitive enough to sense his loss was more than just a team member—although that’d be devastating enough. She’d make him talk about Phil. About what he’d meant, how hard it was to adjust to life without him.
Blake’s stomach, cast iron in battle, shuddered.
“That has to haunt you,” she said quietly. “And make you second-guess your decisions, be extra cautious when it’s costing you to slow down and be careful.”
Blake drew back to stare at her. That wasn’t prodding and poking. That wasn’t pushing him into facing things. Where was the emotional aggression? She was trying to kill him, wasn’t she? Or worse, make him fall in love with her.
“You need to remember that life’s short,” she said, her palm skimming his cheek. “We don’t get to pick the how or the where. All we get to do is live the days we’re given to the fullest.”
Blake had fallen off a cliff once. You’d think it would be a wild and fast plummet to the ground, filled with fear of the pain that was surely waiting on impact. And it had been. But it had also been surreal, a time to assess every decision, every mistake and totally analyze the misstep that had brought him into the free fall. It was oddly comforting to know that dive to the death provided plenty of time for regret.
That’s how he felt right now. He was falling. He could feel it and knew there was no reversing the direction, no halting the fast plunge. That the landing was going to hurt was unquestionable. That he’d regret not watching his step was guaranteed.
Yet, for all that, if someone tossed him a rope to haul him back to safety, he’d have refused. Because some things just had to happen.
Like falling in love with Alexia.
* * *
BLAKE WAS LOOKING at her as if he could see all the way into her soul. As if he knew what was in her heart and was waiting for a confession. Alexia swallowed, wondering what had just happened. And how she was going to deal with it. Because whatever it was, it felt huge.
And she didn’t mean the erection rubbing against her thigh.
She figured she had three options.
Reach down and slide her fingers over that erection, so they both changed focus to something a lot more pleasurable.
Voice any of the dozens of questions clamoring in her mind, like, who had died? How close had Blake been to him? How was he dealing with the loss after all these months? And oh so many more nosy, prying queries.
Or she could face her own fears and ask him what he was feeling. Ask him what it was like to face the death of someone he cared about, and how he could keep on when he could be next.
She could ask him if she was just an escape, a way to get his mind off those worries. A warm pair of arms and an easy distraction. Or if she was more. If they could be more, together.
That last one was a little terrifying.
Could she deal with whatever he was feeling? Was she ready to hear it? If she asked Blake to open that door, she’d have no choice but to face whatever emotions were on the other side. And then, in the name of fairness, she’d have to give him access to her emotional closet, too. That secret place where she stashed all the feelings she was too afraid to deal with.
She wanted to go with the first option. But she knew she’d hate herself if she didn’t at least try to open the emotional door.
“Since life is so short,” she said, picking up from the last comment she’d made, “don’t you think it’s important to be honest about what you want?”
“I honestly want you,” he said, his words teasing, but the look in his eyes deep and intense.
And there she was, back to choosing between the easy route—sex—or the harder one of emotional honesty. Before Blake, Alexia would have sworn that she’d always pick emotional honesty. But it was easy to think that when there was very little at stake.
She took a deep breath, then asked, “And what else, besides me, do you want?”
She figured he’d sidestep. Dance away or turn the query back to something sexy. A part of her hoped he would. Then she’d know she’d tried, given it her best, but that it was all his fault they couldn’t dive into the messy, core-wrenching pain of honest feelings.
“I want to make a difference. I want to know I’ve done my best.” He looked past her for a second, as if he was scanning his want list. Then he met her eyes again, and made Alexia’s heart stutter. “I want a full life. One that’s more than just the military. I want a home. Someplace, someone that accepts me for who I am. For what I am.”
Stuttering just a second ago, now her heart tripped, not sure if it should run toward him or skitter away in fear. He wanted everything. And she knew he’d give everything in return.
Frozen, more afraid in that second than she’d been when the rat terrorist had offered her up to his henchman, Alexia tried to figure out what to say.
Suddenly a loud buzz rang out. Lights flashed.
Blake’s expression shifted from sexy man to soldier in the blink of an eye as he looked past her shoulder toward the equipment bank.
Fear, already hunkered down in her belly, exploded.
“Is that them? Did they find us?”
“No,” he assured her, sliding from her arms and the cot. He moved toward the equipment, grabbing his pants as he went. “It’s just a message. We check in every couple of hours, remember. Nothing to worry about.”
Bless the navy, she thought as the tension poured out of her, leaving her limp and exhausted. Maybe after some sleep in her own bed, some time to sort through her own thoughts, she’d be ready to talk emotions with him. Ready to share what she felt—hell, maybe she’d know what she felt.
But right now, this second? She was just grateful for the interruption.
She watched him answer the radio call, too relieved at the emotional escape that she wasn’t even curious about the message.
Then she shivered. Without his body there keeping her warm, she was chillingly aware that she was naked. She tugged the blanket closer, but it didn’t help. As she watched him pull his shirt over his head and tuck it into his fatigues, she reluctantly reached for her own clothes.
Interruption or not, they were going to have to finish that conversation. It would have been so much easier naked.
She’d got as far as tugging the second pair of socks over her feet when he returned to h
er side.
“Time to go,” he told her.
“What?” Shocked, she stared at him, trying to read more in his face. More what, she didn’t know. All of a sudden, fear gripped her belly. This tent wasn’t home. It wasn’t even civilization. They were in the godforsaken middle of frozen hell. But this tent had become a haven. Safe and secure.
Now they had to leave?
He sat opposite her, tugging on his boots.
“They took Lukoski at 0400. The area is secure.” He looked up from tying his laces to give her a quick smile. “You get to go home.”
“Home.” The image of her condo, with its bright colors and big soft bed, filled her head. Even better, the beach only five minutes away. Hot sand, warm water. She was going to spend her first two days home curled up under her blankets, sleeping like a baby. And the next handful on the beach soaking up as much sunshine as her body would hold.
“Can’t go until you put your boots on, though,” he prompted, handing them to her as if to hurry her along. She tugged, tied and stood in under a minute.
Not bad time for having spent part of it peering at her lover, trying to figure out why he felt so far away all of a sudden.
“Ready,” she said as her head popped through the top of her sweater.
Busy with their outer gear, Blake didn’t say anything.
“What about all this?” She gestured to the tent, the equipment. “Do we pack it up?”
He shook his head.
“A team will come in later, after we get you out of here.”
“We should do the dishes.” She looked at the cots, one pristine with blankets still tight enough to bounce a quarter on, the other mussed and tumbled, with two imprints clear on the pillow. “Or at least make the bed.”
Blake followed her gaze with unreadable eyes. Why was he so distant now? Was he ashamed of what they’d done? Was he so tied to rules and regulations that he regretted their lovemaking? Or just that he’d opened up to her? Hadn’t he meant what he said about wanting a full life? Or had he meant it, but realized that it simply didn’t apply to her.
He handed her the heavy coat she’d worn on the trip in, then shrugged into his own. Before she could finish zipping hers closed, he tossed the can of chocolate into the trash bag, shook out the blankets and gave the pillow a good, solid punch.
