by Tawny Weber
“Why didn’t you ever share any of this with me before?” she asked.
“You never wanted to hear it before, darling. You were too busy rebelling and finding your own way.” Margaret patted her daughter’s knee, then rose. “And you do have a habit of holding on to anger, Alexia. Long after a battle has ended, you’re still there in the trenches, ready to aim and fire again. Which makes communication rather difficult.”
Well, there you go. Alexia’s shoulders sank under the weight of that truth. Her parents weren’t perfect. Nor was she so overwhelmed by the emotions of her ordeal into thinking they were even great. They were self-absorbed, stubborn, close-minded and ambitious.
But, she realized, so was she.
“Mother, is it okay if I stay here again tonight?”
“I’d love it if you did,” Margaret said. Then her smile dimmed a little. “But we do have company coming for dinner. You’re free to join us, or if you’re still feeling melancholy, you can take your meal in your room.”
“I’ll join you,” Alexia decided, surprising them both. Hey, maybe a meal where she wasn’t holding on to anger would be interesting.
“I’ll let the cook know,” Margaret said, her eyes bright again.
She left with a quick wave of her fingers. Alexia heard her in the hallway, then her father’s deeper tones. He was home from the base. Other than his insistence on being there for the debriefing—which she’d thought was to make sure she didn’t embarrass him but now wondered if it was for support—she hadn’t seen him since their return from the North Slope. And even that she didn’t remember much of. After ten silent, miserable minutes in the Snow Trac trying not to cry, she’d fallen asleep only to wake on an aircraft carrier just before it set down in Coronado.
Should she go talk with him?
Try to discover if there might be a bridge between them like the one she’d found with her mother?
Ask if he had news of Blake and whether or not the team was back yet?
Double-check to see if she’d drooled all over the cot in his aircraft carrier?
She should.
If she wanted an open dialogue and communication between them, it was up to her to take the first step.
And maybe her mother had a point. Maybe she did hold on to anger, creating walls where there didn’t need to be any.
Then again, what if all he wanted to do was lecture her? Or chide her on her career choices? Or any number of other negative things.
Things had always been cut-and-dried between them—her father was the jerk, she was the poor, misunderstood and unappreciated daughter. He was rigid, she was strong. He was wrong, she was right. Simple as that.
Now she didn’t know. Wasn’t sure.
“Who’s in the mood for cinnamon buns?”
Saved from talking herself into approaching her father, Alexia gratefully looked up to see her brother standing in the doorway, a white, aromatic bag in hand.
“Michael,” she greeted, rising to give him a tight hug. “Are you here again? I thought you had a show today.”
“Show, shmow. I took a little personal time. It’s not every year that my sister scares the crap out of me, after all.”
“That seems to be today’s theme,” Alexia said, taking the bag even though she wasn’t hungry. At this rate, she’d be ten pounds overweight before she ever made it home.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked, pulling a chair over and straddling it. “What scared you? Flashbacks? Nightmares? Split ends?”
Alexia’s lips quirked. She pulled a piece off the bun, but didn’t eat it. “Mother said she was scared. When I was gone, she said you all were. I mean, I knew you would be. But I didn’t even consider that they would.”
“She was pretty freaked,” Michael said. “And yeah, I’d have to say Father was, too. He cussed up a storm, threw a few things and ordered me to stay here and take care of Mom while he dealt with this mess.”
Alexia’s lips twitched. “This mess?”
“Yeah. But he didn’t mean you for once,” Michael teased with a wink. “He was talking about the Science Institute. Dr. Darling was being a total ass about the rescue, wanting to do some CYA before bringing in the authorities. He didn’t want the news leaking before he’d talked to the investors.”
CYA. Covering his ass, indeed.
“That Edward sure is a peach,” she said sardonically. She wasn’t surprised, though. He’d been in contact with the terrorist for almost a year and hadn’t caught on that the guy was a murdering lunatic. If that got out, he wasn’t going to look so good. And bad press could slam the door shut on the flow of money to the institute. But still, the man had claimed they were perfect for each other. Maybe he’d have been in a bigger rush to rescue her if she’d slept with him.
As if reading her mind, Michael nudged her shoulder with his. “Good thing you didn’t date the guy, hmm? I mean, what a wank.”
She made a sound of agreement, staring out the window again. She’d thought Edward’s only drawback was that he didn’t turn her on. But it looked as if all the communication skills in the world didn’t make a guy a hero.
“Are you staying for dinner?” she asked.
“Are you?”
“Sure. Mother said there would be guests. But you can sit next to me and keep me entertained.”
And distracted. Because all this self-reflection was really messing with her resolve to accept that things were over with Blake.
Of course, resolve or not, it didn’t really matter.
He was the one who wanted nothing to do with her.
14
BLAKE STOOD AT ATTENTION, waiting for the admiral’s signal.
“At ease,” Pierce said as he moved behind the imposing desk in his home office and sat like a king on his leather throne. “You’re a guest, Landon, relax and have a seat.”
Right.
Blake sat, but he didn’t relax. The venue was a little more informal than headquarters, where he’d had his first debriefing. And he might be the admiral’s dinner guest, but that didn’t change the fact that this was a formal interview.
“You’ve already received official acknowledgment of a job well done,” the admiral said, his fingers steepled in front of his chest as he regarded Blake. The look on his face might have been friendly, but it was hard to tell. Granite didn’t bend well. “I’d like to offer my private, personal appreciation, as well. You got my daughter out, kept her safe and delivered her without harm. Her mother and I are grateful.”
Blake stared. For real? He hadn’t taken the admiral as a gratitude kind of guy.
“Thank you, sir,” he said. Then, knowing he shouldn’t, he still asked, “How is Alexia doing? Has she recovered from her ordeal?”
Meaning the “kidnapping and grueling weather” ordeal. Not the “sex on a cot and subsequent pseudo rejection from him” ordeal. Blake ground his teeth, still not sure if he’d done the right thing. Or more to the point, still not sure he was glad he’d done the right thing.
He missed her. He’d spent eight months missing her, but telling himself she hated him had made it easier to resist the urge to reconnect. Now that he knew she didn’t hate him...? The urge was like a noxious rash, growing and spreading at lightning speed, making him crazy.
“According to the psychologist, she’s processed the trauma in a healthy way and isn’t likely to have long-term issues as a result.” Before Blake could process how stupid that sounded, the admiral continued, “According to her mother, she’s fragile and underfed, but just needs some time and TLC. And if you listen to her brother, who knows her best, she’s stewing over something and needs to go shoe shopping.”
“Shoe shopping?” Blake deadpanned.
“Apparently it’s a cure-all,” the older man said, looking both baffled and embarrassed. Then he pulled his official face back on. “The bottom line is she’s fine. A great deal of the credit for that goes to you.”
“I’d say the credit for that goes directly to Alexia,” Blake shot
back without thinking.
And immediately regretted it. The admiral got a wily, weighing sort of look in his eyes. Then he nodded as if Blake had just made some grand confession.
“I’m going to step outside of protocol for a moment,” Pierce said, folding his hands on his desk. He leaned forward, his face creasing in a granitelike smile. “I’d like to talk to you, not as your commanding officer, but man-to-man.”
Blake’s brows arched. Technically, since he was retired, the admiral wasn’t still his commanding officer. Technically. Still, it was the man-to-man part that was worrying.
“You and my daughter have...”
Oh, shit. Have what? Had inappropriate relations? Had a hundred or so mutual orgasms? Had enough emotional intensity between them to fuel a soap opera?
“You have a lot in common. You’re both young and single.”
Blake waited. Was that all Pierce had? Or did he simply not know enough about his daughter to make a list. Blake could. They liked the same music and laughed at the same jokes. They both liked the beach and hated being cold. They were communications specialists who specialized in avoiding communication. They had a sexual chemistry that could blow up both their worlds, and a mutual love for chocolate.
“You’re both intense, focused individuals with strong ethics and career goals,” the admiral finally said, a hint of triumph in his tone. Yep, the old guy really knew what young single people were looking for in each other.
“Sir, are you trying to set me up with Alexia?”
After she’d reacted so well to it the last time?
“Set up is such a juvenile term. Let’s just say I’d be amenable to the idea of you and my daughter building a relationship together.”
In all his consideration of whether a relationship with Alexia was a good idea or not, in all his continual recounting of the pros and cons, he’d never, once, factored her father’s approval into the mix.
Now that it was front and center, he still didn’t care. If he and Alexia were going to try to work things out, it’d be between the two of them. It didn’t matter to him whether the admiral was cheering them on, or doing his damndest to roadblock them.
But they weren’t going to try, because there was no point. A relationship between them would eventually hurt Alexia. Blake figured it was better to hurt her a little now, instead of a whole lot later.
“I’m sorry, sir. But I’m not in the market for a relationship. Besides,” Blake couldn’t resist adding, “I have a dangerous career. The chances of my being hurt, or killed, aren’t insignificant. That’s a lot to ask someone to live with.”
That the admiral waved his concern away didn’t surprise Blake. But his next words did. “She grew up with the realities of a soldier’s life. She knows danger is relative. There are plenty of other dangerous careers. Police work, firefighting. Hell, my daughter just proved it’s not even safe to work in a science laboratory. She’s not going to worry about how safe your job is.”
He wanted to believe that. He wished like crazy that he wouldn’t be condemning her to a life of misery if he pursued this heat between them. But the image of Phil’s mother’s face wouldn’t fade from his mind.
“I’d worry, sir. You know as well as I do that our work requires total focus. How can you give it that focus if a part of you...” Blake winced, realizing he was treading dangerously close to sappy greeting-card territory here. But he still wanted the answer. “How do you do your job right if your thoughts are back home, worrying about the people who are worrying about you?”
“You do it because they expect you to. Because they believe you’re damn good and trust your training is the best.” The admiral shrugged, then poked a beefy finger at the framed photo of his wife sitting on the corner of his desk. “You make sure they understand your reasons for being a soldier, that they are strong enough to support you. And you let them blubber when they have to. Give them some pats on the back, a little reassurance and make sure they know how you feel. Then, if something does happen, they’re ready. They know why you did what you did and they know your feelings for them. With that, once the shock is over, they can accept it.”
Well. Nonplussed, Blake stared. Talk about sappy greeting-card fodder.
But sappy or not, maybe the admiral was right. Blake had taken the loss of Phil hard, but he’d never questioned continuing to be a SEAL. He’d never questioned Phil’s dedication to his job. Nor, he recalled, had Phil’s mom.
“The only concern your career would have to my daughter is the secrecy. She’s a stickler for talking. Communicating and all that rot.” The admiral shook his head as if the idea of a couple communicating with each other was bizarre.
It was as if someone had just flicked on a bright light straight into his brain, and Blake blinked with surprise. Not only at the totally accurate insight, but that Pierce actually knew his daughter well enough to make it.
Still... He couldn’t—wouldn’t—change who he was. So secrecy was just as valid a reason as danger to avoid getting hurt... No, he corrected, to avoid hurting Alexia.
“I appreciate you considering me suitable for your daughter,” Blake said, doing a careful verbal tap dance. “But, again, my career is my priority right now. I don’t feel there’s room for a relationship. Sir.”
He tacked that last word on because the old guy’s face looked as if it was going to crack.
Instead, it was the man’s fist against his desk that snapped.
“She needs someone strong. Someone who will guide her, keep her out of trouble.”
“She’s strong enough to guide herself,” Blake pointed out, starting to get a little irked. “And the only trouble she’s been in was through no fault of her own. I hardly think that calls for parental interference.”
Blake tossed the words out like a grenade. With a lot of caution, full awareness that they were going to cause an explosion and a mental warning to be ready to duck and cover.
“You don’t think being held in a terrorist cell, by a man convicted of five murders to date, is call for parental concern?” The admiral’s expression was neutral, but his tone could cut ice. Both fists on his desk, he leaned forward with a lethal glare. “She won’t listen to her mother or I, so she needs someone there. Someone who will protect her. Who will caution her and guide her into making more intelligent choices. To quit this ridiculous job and do something else. Private practice, counseling. If she’d done that before, perhaps she wouldn’t be fragile, underfed and needing to buy shoes right now.”
Blake wasn’t sure how anyone could question Alexia’s intelligence. But he figured he’d give Pierce the benefit of the doubt and call this fatherly concern. Or something.
“She doesn’t want to do counseling,” Blake said with a frown. “She wants to do research, to help people on a larger scale.”
“She has two degrees. There’s absolutely no reason for her to be involved in such a crackpot field except as an embarrassment to her family.”
“She’s researching subliminal sexual healing because she believes in it,” Blake said slowly. A man of few illusions, he was still surprised that the admiral would go so far as trying to set his daughter up in a relationship in order to control her career choices.
“She could believe in something else just as easily,” the older man said.
“She believes she’s making a difference in the world.”
“She’s going on television and talking to reporters about sex.”
“She’s trying to help people who’ve been abused and have no other options. That means keeping the topic, and the funding, fresh and relevant. Yes, she’s talking sex. But she does it with charm, humor and compassion.”
If Blake tried, he was pretty sure he could hear the admiral’s teeth grinding together.
“I could find a way to make this an order, Landon.”
“Your daughter isn’t under your command. Sir.” Bitterness coating his mouth, Blake bit off the title. For the first time since he’d joined the service
at eighteen, he actually wished he could spit on it.
“But you are. And you have influence with her.”
Since the admiral still served on base as a civilian adviser, Blake had to give him that point.
“I don’t have, nor would I use, influence to coerce someone into leaving a job they love. I would resent someone doing that to me, and would expect the same resentment in return.”
Clearly, that wasn’t what Pierce wanted to hear. His face closed tight, the admiral steepled his fingers, then launched his pièce de résistance. “I’ve still got pull on the base. You’d be smart to follow my orders.”
The threat hung between them.
And it was a doozy. With the right word in the wrong ear, Blake could be off the SEAL team. He could be dumped in a training camp somewhere, teaching BUDS to swim. He could be doing push-ups in Guam.
The admiral had that kind of power.
Blake didn’t give a damn.
Ready to refuse, he took a deep breath and rose to his feet. Before he could say a word, there was a soft tap at the door.
He and the admiral both turned.
It was Alexia. Blake almost dropped back to his seat. Damn, she was gorgeous.
“Gentlemen,” she greeted softly. The look she gave Blake was guarded. Impossible to read.
“Yes?” her father barked.
“Mother asked me to let you know dinner is ready,” Alexia said quietly, addressing her words to her father but not taking her gaze off Blake.
“Very well.” The admiral’s chair squeaked as he rose. “We’ll continue this discussion after the meal, Landon.”
“I think we’ve finished it already, sir.”
He should care that he’d just put his career on the line. It should matter that he was risking everything, his job, his identity, his world, in refusing the admiral’s request that he manipulate Alexia.
But all Blake could see, focus on, was her. Standing in the doorway, she looked like sunset.
Her curls tumbled, soft and flowing, over bare shoulders. Unlike the last time they’d been together, when the only color on her face was the bruises under her eyes and her cold-chapped cheeks, she was fully made-up. Like a siren, her eyes were deep and mysterious, her lips red and luscious. She wore a sundress of bleeding turquoise and purple, the silky fabric hugging her curves, then flaring from the hips to swing, full and frothy, to her knees. It was an old-fashioned look, like something a fifties pinup would wear. It suited her perfectly.
