Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1

by Tamara Morgan

  It was a small victory but one he was happy to accept.

  “What’s your big plan?” Kate asked as soon as Kilroy crept off into the distance. “You ruined my date, you have no fish to offer for dinner and it looks to me like you still aren’t willing to accept Duke’s offer. How is this any different from where we were last week?”

  Julian sat on a large, flat rock, big enough to hold the two of them, and gestured for her to join him. She did, though perched so far from him it hardly counted.

  “I totally could have had that fish,” he said, ignoring the question. This was Truce Rock. He wouldn’t say or do anything to piss her off while they remained on it. They could at least have this moment. “Five more minutes and I was there.”

  She let out an exasperated noise, almost like a kitten’s cry. “That’s hardly the point here, is it?”

  “And what is the point?”

  She moved closer and nudged him with her hip. “You’re stubborn and annoying.”

  “This is true.” He’d been called a hell of a lot worse in his lifetime, and there was just enough playfulness in her voice to make him feel like he’d just been complimented. “But I’m stubborn and annoying, and you’re still here. What does that make you?”

  The tight smile she offered him was unreadable. She could have been hiding a huge grin. She could also have been stopping herself from saying something she might regret. Julian’s ability to discern the difference disappeared the moment one of her hands reached up and traced the outline of his tattoo where it peeked out from under his sleeve.

  “You’re also a bit of a mystery,” she said, ignoring his question. “What does your tattoo mean?”

  Lots of people showed an interest in his tattoo. Few cared to hear what it actually meant to him, and it was a subject on which he would have gladly spoken for hours. Especially if Kate kept moving her finger over his skin while he did it. Her touch was feather-light and brought with it a prickling sensation that did strange things to his concentration.

  “It’s a traditional Micronesian thing,” he explained, his voice low to keep it from faltering. “Each part of it represents some of my heritage and beliefs. Like right there, up higher on my shoulder, you can see the coconut leaves. Those are for warrior strength. The latte stone in the middle is shaped like a rook, since I’ve always loved chess. Here at the bottom, there’s a band of alternating squares and lines—that one is a protection against danger.”

  Her lips quirked even as her hand continued exploring. “What kind of danger could you possibly need protecting from?”

  He grabbed her pointer finger and stilled it. “The kind of danger that looks like you.”

  Color rushed into her face, and she pulled away, her words stilted as she tried to cover her sudden discomfiture. “So, which is more important to you? The Scottish warrior or the Chamorro warrior?”

  It was a good question. Normally, he’d offer a flippant reply, boasting of just how strong they both were, battling inside him in a constant quest for supremacy. But he didn’t feel very strong at that moment, so he was betrayed into telling Kate the truth.

  “Sometimes I think I hide behind them both. Sometimes I think I’m afraid to just be me.”

  She leaned in and pressed her lips against his upper arm, right where the protective band formed the base. The soft and almost innocent sensation of her mouth on his skin erased any abilities the band might have had to save him. Protection, his ass. He’d never been so defenseless in his life.

  “What about yours?” he asked, changing the subject and pointing at her foot. The boots covered everything, but he remembered the fluffy little sheep that peeked up through all her strappy shoes.

  She shrugged. “It’s nothing. A dare. Jada dragged me to the tattoo shop and bet me I wouldn’t do it. So I did.”

  “You sure don’t back down from challenges, do you?”

  “No, it’s not that at all,” she insisted, shaking her head. “It was more like I didn’t have the courage to do it on my own or the strength to say no.”

  That wasn’t true. Julian had taken Kate’s measure almost from the start, when they’d first met about half a mile straight up that cliff side. She had courage. She had strength. It was what he liked about her.

  It was also what made it so hard for him to shift the conversation back into non-neutral territory.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Yes. Does that count as your question?”

  “Nice try, Kate.” He shifted so he was facing her. Her hair was pulled up in a serviceable ponytail, but a few tendrils had sprung free, framing her face and making her appear much younger than she really was. They made her look vulnerable too—a sentiment Julian was rapidly coming to share. It was all he could do not to brush her hair away, kiss every freckle on the slight tip of her nose. He needed to get all his faculties in place, not wound up in the intoxicating presence of her. “I was actually wondering… Do you think it’s possible for two people to enjoy each other’s company even when they’re fighting on opposite sides?”

  “Possible, yes. A good idea?” She took a deep breath. “I’m not so sure.”

  “You speak from experience?”

  “It’s in all the books, Julian. It never works out.”

  He shook his head. “Always with your books taking the place of real experience. Don’t you ever just let yourself fall into the moment and feel it?”

  “That’s what I’m doing right now,” she said quietly. “But it doesn’t change our situation, does it?”

  Caution warned him away from the precipice they faced. “Okay, then. Give me some examples from your books. Who fought for one another?”

  “Romeo and Juliet did it,” Kate pointed out. “But…”

  “But?” he prodded.

  “They died.”

  “Bad example,” Julian said. “Pick a different one.”

  “Heathcliff and Catherine.”

  “I don’t know those ones. But let me guess—they both died too?”

  She laughed softly. “Just Catherine. Heathcliff wandered around in despair for the rest of his life.”

  That seemed about right. “Did they at least get a chance to fix things first?”

  “Oh, he came around eventually, but by then it was too late. He missed his window. He broke her heart.”

  She scooted closer, and it was in that moment Julian knew they weren’t talking about her fictional characters at all. He wrapped an arm over her shoulders, a simple gesture but one that carried much more meaning than if he’d pinned her to the rock and done all the things his body longed to. She leaned in closer, her head resting gently on his shoulder.

  It felt right.

  “So tell me how I can fix this before it’s too late,” he murmured into her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. “Tell me how I can make it through the window.”

  “Do you know how many times in my life I’ve stood up for something that really matters to me?”

  A hard knot grew in his stomach. This was where he’d hoped to lead the conversation, but now that they were here, he would have done anything to turn away from it. He was crashing headlong into the abyss, and there was no way out.

  He just wished he knew how long he’d keep falling before he hit bottom.

  “Not once. Not for anything,” Kate continued. “This is the first time I’ve been able to look a situation straight in the eye and demand something for me.”

  She lifted her head and, despite her words, her eyes were not at all demanding. They were searching for something. For him.

  “Your Jane Austen group matters that much?” His throat felt raw and thick. Why did this have to be the one thing that hinged their entire relationship? Why now?

  “I’m not talking about the group, Julian. I’m talking about a different battle altogether. I’m talking about you and me.”

  “I can’t!” He shot up from the rock and her embrace. He knew what she was asking, and it wasn’t fair.

>   His words echoed through the river canyon, repeating themselves in an agonizing parody of his desperation. He turned away, unable to face her as he closed the window with absolute finality. It was too much—he couldn’t sacrifice a lifetime’s worth of work for a chance at love. He wanted to more than anything else in the world, but for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel strong enough. Not for this kind of sacrifice. Not even for her.

  “Kate, I will do almost anything to make this right, but you’re asking for something that’s just not possible right now. It’s too important. Why can’t you understand that?”

  She came up from behind, turning him with the gentle pressure of her hand. For one moment—an uplifting second in which he thought the world might somehow be right again—it seemed she was going to give in.

  But she just offered a watery smile and asked him to walk her back to camp.

  So he did. Not touching. Not talking. Further from the finish line than ever before.

  He wasn’t able to do anything more than put one foot in front of the other. And even that came at a price.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Best Served Cold

  Snakes.

  Everywhere Julian turned, he felt the slip of serpentine skin against his, heard the rush of slithering bodies against the wall of the tent.

  He’d dreamed of them before too. Snakes and Kate, all wrapped up into one, twining around his body, Medusa in reverse.

  One of the dream snakes slid across his hand, and his fingers automatically came down around it, the lithe, muscular body whipping in a frenzy at being trapped.

  Part of it—the tail, the head, he couldn’t tell—struck him across his thigh like a powerful whip. The pain subsided quickly, but the impression of it lingered in his muscle, suddenly grown hard and tense.

  Julian sat up, his heart pounding.

  He hadn’t had a dream like this, one that made him break out in a cold sweat, since he was a little boy. They’d come often when he was younger. Sleeping spirits, his mother had called them, though they’d felt so real he’d thought it was useless to call them sleeping anything.

  This one felt real too. He looked down at his hand, which was still clutched in a tight fist. And then he blinked. Once. Twice. There was a snake still there, a real, slithering creature frantic to get away.

  Julian bit back a hoarse yell. Without thinking, he hurled the snake as far away from him as it could go. It fell softly into a pile of ten or twelve more of the beasts, heads and tails woven together in a mat of scaly, restless reptilian bodies.

  Shit.

  His breath came short and fast, restricted across the breadth of him by an invisible band that wrapped tighter and tighter, like an anaconda squeezing its prey. The haze of sleep combined with the sudden spike of adrenaline fogged his thoughts, and all he could think about was escape.

  The blue nylon walls pulsed in the erratic beat of his heart as he surveyed his escape routes. One small zippered doorway. Protected by the snakes.

  They started spreading out through the tent, and even crouched against the back wall, Julian was within arm’s reach of at least half of them.

  Shutting his eyes against the sight and wishing he could do the same to his ears, Julian flipped his sleeping bag over the biggest pile and darted for the door. He could feel the snakes trying to escape from under the bag—his bare feet pressed down, the squelch of their flesh spreading under his weight. Huge, racking shudders shook his body as his fingers fumbled with the zipper.

  One snake seemed to make a last-dash lunge for his bare calf as he finally got a grip on the zipper and yanked at it. Its teeth didn’t make an impact, but as the blunt head bashed against his leg, he felt a weak, quivering sound leave the base of his throat.

  And then air.

  Air and space and distance.

  He breathed. And shook.

  As Julian’s head cleared, a dull throbbing started at his temple. The beat was strong and fast, a militant cadence that sparked red in his line of vision and in his blood. Snakes.

  No one knew about his fear of snakes. No one. It was a closely guarded secret he nursed all the more because of how long he’d gone not giving it voice. Peterson hated heights. Michael panicked over small spaces. Only Julian had been able to hide his weakness.

  From everyone except Kate. She knew.

  It was gray out, the early morning mist not yet burned away by the sun. Only Michael was up, stretching his limbs as he got ready for a jog. Shifting bodies—human ones—in the tents indicated they would soon be joined by the others.

  “You okay?” Michael asked, bent over his shoe. “You lit out of there like a priest caught with his shorts down.”

  “How long have you been up?” His voice worked. No cracking. It was strong.

  Michael shrugged. “Quarter of an hour? I’m going for a run. Want to join me?”

  It was a good idea. He could leave the site, let someone else go in with the intent to wake him and discover the snakes. Let them dispose of the writhing mass of bodies. He looked down at his feet, realizing his shoes and socks were still in the tent.

  “No, thanks.” Julian took a few cautious steps. His knees wobbled, and he stomped both legs on the ground to try to get them to work properly. “Has anyone else been up? Kate?”

  “Nah. All’s quiet over on the dark side. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” The words came out through gritted teeth. “Go. Run.”

  Michael shrugged and gave a few fist pumps before heading toward the road.

  Julian waved him off amiably, but the moment Michael was out of sight, he sank to his knees and let himself rest there. For just a minute—just enough to get his bearings and recover the full use of his voice. The second he was sure it was back and wouldn’t betray him, he let it out.

  “Kate!”

  He didn’t give a damn who he woke up.

  Springing to his feet, he called again, “Kate, I mean it! If you don’t get out here in five seconds, I’m coming in to get you.” There was no mistaking the command in his voice.

  Exactly four and a half seconds later, she emerged from the tent, muffled voices and hissed threats following behind her.

  She sure looked like she’d been asleep—he’d give her that. She wore a pair of tight black leggings that hugged her curves and left little to the imagination. Thick socks covered her feet, and his jacket—the one she still hadn’t returned—hung from her frame. Her hair was tousled, and her eye makeup had smudged along the upper lids of her eyes, giving her a seductive, smoky look he almost thought might have been the work of several hours of preparation.

  She yawned and looked up at him through confused, sleepy eyes.

  “Did you really think that would work?” he growled.

  Her eyes snapped open. She was awake now.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He could barely hear himself over the pounding of his blood, filling his head and all of his senses, pouring into a fissure that split him almost in half. To think he’d been up most of the night, unable to do anything other than picture Kate as she trudged back up the hill, defeated and broken—his doing. His damage.

  When all the time, she hadn’t been defeated at all. She’d been plotting her next steps.

  “Was this plan B? Was this your backup if you failed to get your way last night?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Plan B? It’s five o’clock in the morning, Julian. What is going on?”

  “I know I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice tight. He stepped closer to her, but instead of giving him the advantage he thought it would, her proximity only made his chest clench. “I know I hurt you yesterday, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the way I’ve handled this entire situation, and I knew you would be mad at me. Possibly forever. But I didn’t think you could be so cruel.”

  “Cruel?” She blinked, her shoulders coming up in a question. “I may be a lot of things, but no one has
ever accused me of being cruel.”

  “The snakes were cruel,” he said quietly.

  He looked back at his tent. He hadn’t taken the time to shut it after his narrow escape, and it looked like the reptiles—the still-living ones, anyway—were taking advantage of the open door and slithering into the tall weeds in the field. He felt his stomach lurch. Anger. It was anger.

  “Snakes?” She peered around him, following his gaze.

  “Oh, Jada,” she whispered.

  Julian felt as though a caber slammed into his gut, but he stood on his feet. And he didn’t look away—didn’t even blink.

  “You told Jada?”

  Kate shook her head, stepping back, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “No—I mean, yes. I mean…it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “Thank you, Kate,” he said, measuring each breath carefully, as though he’d been allotted only enough to get him through this moment. “You just made this a hell of a lot easier on me.”

  She gave a small squeak of protest, but Julian didn’t turn back. He steeled his jaw and his entire body—and he walked right into his tent, reached in and grabbed his footwear. There were still a few snakes, both living and dead. But for the first time in his life, he realized there were worse things than a simple, debilitating bodily fear.

  There was love. There was betrayal. There was Kate Simmons.

  “What do you mean you’re packing up?” Jada barred entry to the tent with her hands on her hips, her stance wide. “Kate—we’re coming out ahead here. In case you failed to notice, we’re about to get this little park of yours once and for all.”

  Kate pushed her way underneath Jada’s arm and started shoving clothes into her gym bag. She used a lot more force than was necessary, but she’d recently discovered that the only way to keep herself from bursting into tears was to keep moving. She didn’t even stop when half a dozen earwigs scurried out from underneath a dirty shirt.

  “Kate, stop and look at me.” Jada crouched in front of her. “You need to calm down. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”