She turned to look at him as he spoke, horrified at the inhumane conditions he’d been forced to experience. She suspected he’d suffered far worse than he was telling her, but baby steps were enough for now. With her towel-covered backside resting against the edge of the counter, she wrapped her fingers around the cool marble and squeezed, easily imaging the harsh scenario his words painted.
“If they weren’t making our lives miserable, we were ignored. Days would pass before they’d bother with us. What food and water we had, we hoarded. Silas, an Israeli government official who’d originally been kidnapped by the Syrians, guarded our reserves and no one complained. At one point, we’d been left alone for close to a full week, but Silas made sure we all had something to eat, even if it was a stale crust of bread and a few sips of water.”
That certainly explained why Ford’s appetite had changed. Before he’d gone away, he’d been able to put down a sizeable meal. He’d always been active and kept in shape, but he was a big man with an appetite to match. Since he’d come home, he’d yet to finish off so much as a rib-eye steak in one sitting. For a man Texas born and bred, that was practically sacrilege.
“After a five day stretch with no sight of our jailors, one of the guys, Ahmed, a low-level intelligence officer for the Afghan forces, eventually cracked under the strain. When they eventually did show up, they always came in threes. Two guards to drag us to wherever they’d planned to interrogate us, and one to shoot if we tried to escape.
“There’d been a lot of chatter in the compound. We always knew when something was up because there’d be a lot of activity and we’d become an afterthought. When the guards finally came down into the bunker and opened the cage door, Ahmed went nuts. He’d only managed to knock one guard on his ass before the armed guard fired on him. He took one in the gut, and two in the shoulder.
“Silas and I dragged him back into the cage with us. As punishment for helping him, we were denied food and water for two more days. That also meant Ahmed would go without medical treatment for at least two days.”
“But you know first aid,” she said. He wasn’t a medic, not officially, but he’d been trained as one, as had most of the SEAL team members. They could perform field dressings, set broken bones or adjust dislocated joints, even stitch one another up, if necessary. Emergency patch and repair, Ford had once called the rudimentary medical training.
“He needed a doctor. Or at least a medic with the proper tools. Instead, he had three prisoners hold him down so I could dig out the goddamned bullets.”
She gasped. “What did you use?”
The look in his eyes turned glacial. He held up his hands. The brutality of what he wasn’t saying turned her stomach. She could only stare at him because she was incapable of forming words.
“Luckily for Ahmed,” he continued, “he passed out from the pain fairly quickly, but not fast enough. On the dirt floor of our prison, he screamed in agony as I dug that first bullet out of his shoulder with my bare hands.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
He reached for the forgotten scotch and drained his glass. “He needed meds. Clean bandages. Something for the pain and for the infection, but our requests weren’t denied so much as they were ignored. After three days, I couldn’t stand to see Ahmed suffer any longer, so I made the guard an offer. I offered to trade my wedding ring if they’d help him.”
“I was wondering what happened to your ring,” she said. “I figured you’d just lost it.”
“It was a miracle I still had it. I’d hidden it in the waistband of my fatigues, and since it was the only currency I had to barter, I handed over the gold. The bastards dragged Ahmed from the cell only to put a bullet in his brain.” He twirled the empty glass between his fingers. “He could’ve made it, you know. Even the gut wound wasn’t fatal. No major organs were hit. With antibiotics for the infection, a doctor to clean up the crude bullet removal, he could have survived. Instead they executed him and left his body to rot right in front of us. For days we watched his rotting corpse decompose. I don’t know what was worse, the god-awful stench, or the sight of it all.”
“Oh Ford,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He lifted his gaze to hers, and she flinched at the absolute coldness that encompassed his very presence. His eyes glittered and his square jaw turned granite-hard. This was not the same man who’d made love to her that morning. She faced a dark and angry warrior.
“Sorry for what?” he bit out. “That you even asked?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“What else do you want to know?” he asked, his tone filled with bitterness and resentment. “Because I’ve got a lot of stories. You want to hear how after ten days with no food we had to resort to killing rats in order to survive? Or what about the day we had to choose who was going to die? I drew the short straw, but at the last minute, the guards pulled Silas from our cell and beheaded him right in front of us. Apparently, I had more value than a low level Afghan official.”
“Stop it.” She didn’t want to hear any more. “Just stop.”
“Stop, what?” His tone turned belligerent. “Telling you the truth? That’s what you want, isn’t it? The truth?”
“I’m not talking to you when you’re like this.” She pushed off the counter and attempted to brush by him to open the door, but he blocked her. “You’re being an ass.”
His hand manacled her wrist. “No, Matt,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m being honest.”
She tugged, but he refused to let her go. “I’m going to bed.”
His grip tightened. “Your bed or mine?”
Since he’d come home there’d been an edge to him, a quality she hadn’t been able to accurately define. But it was there, lurking beneath the surface, hiding under the too-polite façade. She saw it very clearly now. Witnessed the part of him that had never left enemy territory. He was trying to intimidate her, and it was working. But he was also pissing her off, big time. She narrowed her eyes when she looked at him. “Knock it off, Ford.”
He said nothing. They stood there in the bathroom, locked in a silent battle. She’d be damned if she’d back down. There was no way in hell she’d allow him to bully her. “Let me go,” she demanded. “Now.”
“You’re the one who opened Pandora’s Box.” He loosened his grip, but didn’t release her. “You wanted me to talk about what happened. Well, you got what you wanted. Now deal with it.”
The coldness surrounding him infuriated her. There’d always been an adjustment period when he’d returned from a mission, the transition from fierce warrior to civilized husband, but nothing close to what they were embroiled in at the moment. Maybe she should be afraid of him. What he’d been through had changed him. Hardened him, and after what he’d just told her, she couldn’t blame him. But she’d never feared him and she wasn’t about to start now, because the day she was afraid of her own husband was the day she filed for divorce.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but it sure as hell isn’t me.”
With one quick tug, he hauled her up against him. “I’m talking to my wife.”
Her breath left her in a whoosh of air at the unexpected contact with his bared chest. His arm banded her waist, holding her against him. Even through his jeans she could feel his erection straining against the denim fabric.
“Have you lost your mind?” Conscious of the fact she wore only a towel, she attempted to wiggle free. “What are you going to do, Ford? Take me here on bathroom floor?”
The muscle in his jaw twitched as he stared down at her. His glittering gaze darkened. He Shoved his free hand through her hair, then kissed her.
The kiss was punishing and hard and held no affection. More possession than passion. She pushed at his shoulders, but he ignored her feeble attempts and kissed her more deeply.
Without warning, he ended the kiss, but the arm ar
ound her waist tightened. “I want you,” he said roughly. “God help me, Mattie, I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”
Whatever argument she’d tried to form evaporated when he spun her around and lifted her, setting her on the vanity. With a flick of his wrist, her towel was history and his hands were sliding up her legs, an intensity burning in his eyes as he held her gaze.
He grabbed her ass and hauled her to the edge. “Ford,” she said, her throat tight from the passion pulling at her, making her sex wet in anticipation. He snagged her foot and set it on the marble counter, opening her legs wide, exposing her, making her vulnerable. He dropped to his knees, and desire pulled within her. Her head spun when his mouth covered her folds and he tongued her core, going deep.
He kissed, he licked, he sucked, pushing her hard, heightening her need for him to make her come. She moaned, she cried his name, begged for release, but he withheld her orgasm. When he drove two fingers deep inside her and stroked, fast, hard, she nearly died from the pleasure building inside her. She grabbed a handful of his short-cropped hair and held him to her. “Now,” she begged. “Please.”
Instead of giving her the orgasm her body demanded, he stood and roughly yanked down his jeans and boxer briefs, then kicked them aside. He hauled her off the counter, turned her around so she faced the mirror and widened her stance before he took her from behind. She let out a long, slow hiss of breath as he filled her. Her moans coalesced with his sharp groans as he pumped his hips, withdrawing only to bury himself to the hilt with each thrust. His cock slid in and out of her body, his fingers dug into her flesh, but she didn’t care. She needed to come. Now.
Knowing it made him crazy when she touched herself, she moistened her fingers with her mouth, then reached between her legs and applied pressure to her clit. She instantly unraveled. He watched her in the mirror as she came, his eyes going as dark as a midnight sky. The force of her orgasm rocked her so hard all she could do was absorb the shockwaves of passion as he pumped into her, harder, faster. If Ford wasn’t holding her, she’d have slid into a boneless puddle at his feet.
With one final thrust, he buried himself deep and came. He groaned as his dick throbbed and pulsed inside her. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the vanity as he continued to grind into her until the spasms rolling through his body ebbed.
She’d been fucked. Thoroughly. Completely. Her body continued to hum from the afterglow of such intense pleasure. Ford had always been a skilled lover. Adventurous. Uninhibited. She had the pink floral box stowed on a shelf in her closet filled with various adult toys he’d bought them over the years to prove it, too.
Still breathing hard, he released her. “I’m sorry.” He pulled out of her and took a step back before he dragged his hand down his face. “God, babe, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Confused, she grabbed the towel from the counter and wrapped it around her. “For what?”
“For...” he spread his hands wide, “...this.”
Irritation settled in her shoulders. She frowned. “You didn’t hear me complaining, did you?”
He ignored her question as he picked up his boxer briefs and stepped in them before snagging his jeans from the floor. “Are you okay?”
Her annoyance had her ripping away the clip holding her hair, and she tossed it on the vanity. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said.
“Did you hear me say no?” This wasn’t the first time they’d had sex that danced up against the rough side, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the last. She loved it when they lost control, when they left their inhibitions outside the bedroom door. “Have you ever heard me say no?”
He yanked on his jeans. “Maybe you should start,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She turned to face him, surprised to see his earlier anger had returned. “Are you ticked off at me?”
“Yes, damn it. I’m furious with you right now.”
His answer stunned her. “Look, if I didn’t want sex, I would have said no. I didn’t, so get over yourself.” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Do I have to guess why you’re in a mood, or are you going to tell me?”
The look he gave her was hard, unforgiving. “Every single day, I fought to stay alive. Every single day, I found a way to survive. I want to forget the things I had to do in order to do that. But you think by talking about it, you can somehow share in the experience.”
“No, but I read an article online that said—”
“Oooh, you read an article online,” he said mockingly. “And now what? I’m supposed to talk it out with you? Are you going to kiss my boo-boo make it all better?”
“That’s not—”
“I’ve talked to the Navy shrink, Mattie, and I’m sick of sharing my ‘feelings,’” he said using air quotes. “It’s your turn. While I was living in Hell, what the fuck were you doing?”
Panic seized her. “I’m not having this discussion with you.” Needing to wash away the remnants of their tryst in the bathroom, she crossed the room to the shower and turned on the tap. “I’m going to clean up and go to bed. Good night, Ford.”
“Don’t want to talk about it? Let me make it easy for you,” he said angrily. “Pick a day, Matt. Any day.”
“Why are you being such a jerk?” She tested the water, then cranked up the heat a few notches. “We had sex. It was good. More than good, it was a little rough and I came, hard. So did you, for that matter. Can’t we just leave it at that and call it a night?”
“What were you doing the past five years, Matt?” he pressed. “Other than fucking some other guy.”
The urge to slap his face bit into her hard. Instead, she clutched the towel to her chest. She was not a violent person, but right now, she wanted nothing more than to lash out at him. “Don’t bother moving your things out of the guest room.”
“This is still my house,” he said, his voice low and cold. “And you’re still my wife.”
“No, I’m Ford Grayson’s wife. I don’t know who the hell you are,” she shot at him. “But until you start behaving like my husband, you can sleep in the garage for all I care.”
He looked as if he were going to say something further on the subject, but he brushed passed her instead, closing the door with a sharp snap. She struggled not to cry, but the battle was lost. She dropped her towel and stepped into the stinging spray of the multiple shower heads. Stumbling back against the deep-blue, glass tiles, she slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands.
She cried because of the hurt and resentment still lingering between them. Cried because of what Ford had suffered, and how she’d almost given up completely. She cried until she had nothing left and could barely catch her breath.
She started hiccupping as she stood to wash her hair. When did they go so wrong? Were they so broken they couldn’t be fixed? She didn’t want to believe that was even possible, but after tonight, she had to admit, she honestly did not know if they could move forward.
The old Ford would never have retreated. He’d have stayed until they fought it out, until they’d resolved the issue. Only once in their entire marriage had they gone to bed angry, and that had been her fault because she’d been PMSing and had refused to kiss and make up.
She rinsed her hair, added conditioner, then decided to shave her legs. Using the built-in shower-bench for support, she slathered shaving cream on her legs. As she dragged the razor over her calves, she realized her and Ford weren’t even close to resuming their relationship, not in the real sense. They might have breached the sexual barrier, but emotionally, they remained miles apart.
She finished shaving, then rinsed her hair before she stepped out of the shower. As she toweled off and dressed in a pair of loose fitting pajama bottoms and one of Ford’s old Baylor University t-shirts she’d never been able to part with, she understood they needed to find a way to make peace. But how could they when Ford was still held captive, this time b
y the demons haunting him, and his jealousy over her relationship with Trenton. “Deal with it,” she murmured to her reflection in the mirror. “How are we supposed to do that?”
Sadly, she didn’t have the first clue.
Fourteen
THUNDER RUMBLED FAR in the distance, warning of the first of what reportedly would be a series of storms rolling up from the Gulf, if the weather-gurus were to be believed. August in Texas was damned hot, that was a given. But Mother Nature had been raging more than usual, making everyone miserable in the process, with triple digits riding high on the mercury. The humidity was so thick, Ford swore they’d been living under a wet, wool blanket all week. They were overdue for some stormy weather, and the light wind stirring the leaves on the big tree out front, carried with it the promise of relief and the sweet scent of coming rain.
Like he’d told Mattie Sunday night, they were stuck. Now, not only were they stuck, there was a chasm between them he swore was widening every day they remained unresolved. Neither one of them had ever been the type to hold a grudge before, at least not for more than a few hours, so he wasn’t accustomed to the polite responses and emotionless queries he’d been getting from her all week. Otherwise, she wasn’t talking. Her lips were sealed tighter than a seasoned CIA agent being interrogated by the enemy. Naturally they’d argued during the course of their marriage, sometimes even heatedly. But they’d always made-up afterward. But he swore, if he heard her say, “I’m fine,” one more time when he asked her if everything was all right, he might just lose it.
So what was he doing? Instead of confronting his wife and clearing the air, or having it out with her once and for all, he was hiding in the garage like a fucking coward. He wasn’t the one being stubborn. He’d tried several times to apologize for his behavior, and every time he did, he swore it only pissed her off more.
Playing Dirty Page 18
