He was so close she could feel the heat his big body emitted, smell that light spicy aftershave he favored. When dizziness hit, she realized she’d forgotten to breathe. Instead, she was holding his scent way down deep in her lungs. Immersing herself in it.
“I’m sorry.”
His apology came out of nowhere, knocking her from her sensual daze. She shifted against the armrest until she faced him. “For what?”
He scrubbed a hand down his face, his eyes so full of self-disgust they’d turned black. “For everything. For not believing you. For believing Adam and Lena and hell—everyone else. For leaving you at that party. For not reading your letters.” He scowled. “For everything.”
At a loss for words, Becca simply stared at him, the hot, aching rush of regret burning up her throat. Twelve years ago, when she’d been raw and hurting and still painfully in love with him, she’d daydreamed about this moment. Fantasized about the instant he finally saw her, saw into the heart of her, recognized her for who she was instead of who other people claimed she was. Fantasized about him apologizing for how he’d treated her and asking for another chance.
But it was too late now. Far too late.
“Thank you,” she finally said. Although it wasn’t fair to let him shoulder all the blame, she was just as responsible for what had happened between them. “I don’t blame you though. I really don’t.” Not now anyway. “I’m aware my behavior was irrational. It’s difficult to trust the word of someone who acts downright crazy half the time.” She offered him a pained smile.
“Post-traumatic stress.” Rio’s face softened as he scanned her face. “Finding your mother like that… Hell, it would have done a number on anyone.”
She nodded slightly. “Partly. Plus there was the constant hell of living with Adam and Lena. I was super stressed and didn’t handle it well. When you came along, I latched onto you like I’d found my knight in shining armor. I expected you to rescue me, carry me away.”
He scowled, disgust heavy on his face. “Some knight I turned out to be.”
“You couldn’t rescue me, Rio.” She leaned toward him, reaching out with her good hand. “Nobody could save me. I had to confront my demons myself. Learn how to deal with them. What happened between us was for the best. I had no business being in a relationship. Especially with a man like you. Someone who had no qualms about putting themselves in danger.” Her voice thickened. She stopped to clear the hoarseness from her throat. “The thought of losing you, of you dying, it terrified me.”
He cocked his head, a confused expression wrinkling his brow. Absently he reached for the hand she held out. “But you knew I was a SEAL from day one.”
“Yes.” She grimaced and shook her head, her heart aching for the immature girl she’d been. She’d thought that love would change her world, that all her problems would magically disappear. Instead, fear had detonated inside her and life had become unbearable. “But I was so naïve, clueless really. I knew you were on leave from the Navy. I knew you were a SEAL. I even knew your job was dangerous. But I didn’t understand how dangerous, at first. Not until that helicopter went down in Afghanistan and I realized that could have been your picture on the news. Your body on the way home in a box.” She shuddered. “I googled how many SEALs had been killed in action, and there were so many names. So many faces.”
Sudden understanding lit his eyes. “That’s why you demanded I leave the teams.”
She forced a smile. Her face felt hot and itchy. Did she look as ashamed as she felt?
“Like I said, I didn’t handle stress very well and the thought of losing you was unbearable.” How ironic, in the end, she’d lost him anyway. She swallowed hard, forcing the regret down. She couldn’t change the past, best not to let it affect her present or future. “I’m sorry I threw your ring in your face. It really was lovely.”
He was silent for a moment, his face brooding. “It was my grandmother’s. She gave it to my dad when he proposed to my mom. When I told her I intended to ask you to marry me, she gave it to me.”
She squeezed his hand. “Adele told me she died. I’m sorry. I know how close you two were.”
He simply nodded.
Becca fell silent as well. It was surprisingly comfortable sitting here with him. Their thighs brushing, his furnace of a body warming her left side. Without thinking, she shifted until she was sitting squarely beside him, rather than at an angle. After a moment he moved too, his arm sliding around her shoulder.
With a content sigh, she settled against him. They’d sat like this so many times in the past it felt natural even now. A sideways peek through her lashes showed he was watching her face, a searching, hungry look bright in his eyes. His face was hard but not with disapproval or suspicion.
Without thinking, she laid her head against his shoulder and reached up to stroke his cheek. When his head lowered, she kept her eyes open and her hand on his face. His lips brushed hers, retreated, returned to sip and caress.
His mouth felt warm against hers. Soft. In control.
And so damn erotic her head spun.
She’d kissed other men before and after Rio. Even went to bed with a couple of them after Rio and she had broken up. None of them had given her chills or sweaty palms. None of them had jumpstarted her pulse or made her head spin. None of them had affected her like Rio had, like he still did. There was something about the man that her body reacted to with extreme volatility.
The face beneath her palm was harder, more chiseled than it had been at twenty-three. But that light hint of stubble was still there. His lips were still supple and surprisingly soft and… experienced. He’d been well practiced at kissing as a twenty-three-year-old. Knowing exactly how to bring her to a boil. But as an adult, he was even more potent.
She moaned softly as the heat built and the melting started. His mouth left her lips to bathe her throat in nips and nibbles and the warm, soothing glide of his tongue. Tingles and chills joined the muscle melting.
The things he could do with that mouth.
“You always were an amazing kisser,” she whispered.
A rush of heat hit her belly as he gently took the skin beneath her ear between his teeth and tugged. As the sensual fire sank lower, settling between her thighs, he suddenly lifted and cocked his head, clearly listening.
“Damn.” He bent his neck for a quick nibble at her lips before groaning and straightening. “Hold that thought.”
“What?” Disappointment rising, she shook her foggy head as he pushed himself off the couch.
“Someone’s at the door. Probably Tag.” He cast a frustrated glance toward the foyer.
Someone had knocked? She hadn’t heard anything. As he skirted the couch and headed across the room, a knock sounded on the door. Someone was out there. He’d heard them. She hadn’t.
Disoriented, she straightened against the cushions, a sudden chill dousing the desire. Misgivings rose. Either his senses were incredibly sharp, so acute he’d heard the fall of footsteps or the sound of a knock, even while making out, or he hadn’t been nearly as caught up in the moment as she’d been.
The next morning, as Rio knocked on the door to Adele’s condo, thoughts of Becca still circled through his mind. He shook his head, disbelief swelling. All it had taken was four days—four days for her to move right in and take over his mind again.
Of course that hot-as-hell kiss the night before hadn’t helped. Those heated moments on the couch had followed him into sleep where they’d revved his body and sweated his sheets. Even now, snatches of those damn dreams teased his dick, infusing it with far too much excitement for a ten a.m. workday.
…the glide of smooth, scented skin beneath his lips… his heart rate jumped… a wet, wicked mouth suckling its way down his abdomen, on a collision course with the zipper of his jeans… his cock twitched, hardening with eagerness…
Jesus—
With the dream from the night before mushrooming in his mind, Rio scowled. He took a giant, mental step back
, blocking the memory of the erotic dream. The last thing he needed was a fucking cannon pressing against his slacks while he interviewed Adele. With the way his luck was running, Adele would notice and assume his enthusiasm was for her feminine wiles…
His next round of pounding on Adele’s door was harder, full of irritation. Mostly with himself.
No question the combustibility was still there. They’d barely brushed lips, and whoosh—craving had ignited. But then chemistry had never been the problem between them. No, the issue had been her volatility… her unpredictability… the instability that her so-called family had manipulated at will. Although, his apathy had played a big part as well. If he’d been more aware, willing to dig down into her psyche and find the reasons behind her reactions, if he’d stepped outside his own ego for a moment and tried to help her…
He grimaced, the sting of shame and self-disgust whipping through him again. Some hero he’d turned out to be. She’d saved herself.
That earlier volatility was gone now.
For Becca, these past five days must have been incredibly stressful. Between facing an antagonistic ex-lover, barely escaping a hit-and-run, getting shot, spending four days as the guest of a stranger while surrounded by strange men… well, things couldn’t have been much more stressful.
If that old instability were going to rear its ugly head, it would have done so by now. She really had changed.
Where exactly that left them, he had no clue. All he knew for certain was that something still lurked between them. Whether that something was simple chemistry or something deeper, only time would tell.
Not that they’d have time to explore this connection between them if she was determined to leave on Monday. That all-too-familiar tension returned, infusing him, tightening his muscles and chest. If he wanted a chance to reexplore these sparks simmering between them, he’d need to convince her to stay, at least for a while longer.
He knocked on Adele’s door again. Even louder. More insistent. He’d gotten her address from the DMV, which didn’t mean much. Half the population didn’t bother to update their addresses when they moved. Which reminded him of his first meeting with Tram’s Emma, which reminded him of Becca, which reminded him of that damn kiss.
Scowling, he pounded even harder on Adele’s door.
At least he knew Adele was home. The Renaissance condo towers sat on prime San Diego real estate. In the heart of the prestigious Marina District, the condos came with all the amenities, including twenty-four-hour concierge service. After he’d flashed his badge, the woman at the concierge desk had told him that Adele still lived here and that she was home.
So why wasn’t she answering her damn door?
When his latest round of knocking went unanswered, he stepped back and glanced down the quiet, subtly expensive hall. The towers boasted a fancy pool and exercise room. Maybe Adele was swimming or working out. He’d head down to the rec center and take a quick look.
As he turned away from the door, a click and creak sounded behind him. He turned back, his gaze settling on the towel-wrapped hair of the woman he’d come to see. She must have been in the shower, which explained the lack of response to his knocking.
“Rio!” Her hands flew to the belt of her yellow, sleeveless dress, and she cinched the material tighter around her waist. “What a surprise. You should have called first. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting.”
He brushed aside her light complaint. He was more likely to get the truth from her if he showed up unannounced and unexpected at her door, if he didn’t give her a chance to cobble a storyline together or call someone for advice.
“Can I come in?” Rio asked, his voice detached, masking the simmering combination of anger and guilt eating away at him. What this woman had done to Becca was unforgiveable. But then so was Rio’s abandonment. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
Her eyes widened, nervousness flaring in the pale blue depths. “Of course.” Her hands shot to her head and nervously adjusted the towel wrapped around her hair. “Questions about what?”
“Becca.” Rio’s voice was clipped as the anger slipped its leash. He wrestled it back and stepped forward as Adele stepped back.
After another long step back, Adele spun and led the way down a short hall papered in oriental-themed wallpaper. She stopped in the living room in front of a bank of windows, her thin frame haloed by a flood of brilliant sunlight. The view from up here on the twentieth floor was incredible. San Diego sprawled far and wide below, winding right up to the glittering blue of the bay.
“This is about that party, isn’t it? When we were kids? I thought you were going to question me about it when you showed up at Mother’s place.” Adele’s voice quivered, her fingers knotting in the yellow belt that wrapped her waist. “I offered to tell you everything, but Becca told me not to bother.”
“That’s part of it.” He studied her tense, anxious face. “You drugged her.”
Rage flared, singeing the air as he unleashed the accusation.
She swallowed hard, her blue eyes swimming with shame and fear.
“Not me. That was Adam.” She flinched as he scowled. “Really! That’s on Adam. He’s the one who drugged her drink.”
“The drink that you gave her, knowing full well it had been doctored. Drugging someone’s drink without their awareness or permission is felony assault.” He took a threatening step forward. “Knowingly passing on a drugged drink is accessory to felony assault.”
Not that he could do a damn thing about it now. The statute of limitations had expired years ago. A red mist of self-disgust rose. Dammit, he’d lost his chance to do anything thanks to his own shortsightedness.
Whatever she saw on his face had her cringing and stepping back. “But… but… but…”
Hearing what had happened from Becca had been bad enough, but here was Adele, one of the people who’d drugged her, and all he heard were fucking excuses. He took a deep, calming breath and locked down the rage. He needed to focus on the present and the possibility that Becca’s half-siblings and stepmother were behind the attacks on her.
That, he could do something about.
According to Becca’s account of events on Monday, Adele had already lied to him about a couple of key issues.
“You visited Becca at her hotel just before the shooting,” he said, his voice icy. “Why did you lie when I asked you if you’d seen her recently?”
He watched dispassionately as she recoiled from him, her face bleaching white.
“Because Mother was there,” she stuttered the answer out. “She would have been angry that I went to see her. You saw how she reacted when you told us Becca had been shot. Mother’s not rational when it comes to her.”
He frowned, nodding internally. Adele was right about that; the woman’s insistence that Becca had shot herself had been paranoid as hell. “Is it true your mother knew Becca was in town? That she told you where Becca was staying?”
“Yes,” Adele admitted without hesitation.
“Who passed that information on to her?”
“I don’t know. Mother never said.” Her forehead wrinkled, and a question ghosted across her face. “You said she was okay?” Her voice faltered at Rio’s nod, before rushing the next question out. “Then why hasn’t she returned my calls? I must have left a dozen messages.”
“She hasn’t got them yet. I confiscated her phone. Calls can be traced.”
“Oh.” Adele’s throat trembled. “I thought she was avoiding me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I thought she’d lied when she said she forgave me. I thought she wasn’t returning my calls because she didn’t want to talk to me.” She stared at him, her eyes watery. “She doesn’t think I had anything to do with her getting shot, right? I mean, she knows I would never hurt her, right?”
He shrugged, trying to ignore the pain vibrating through her question. “I don’t know what she believes. We haven’t discussed it.”
Sympathy stirred when her face twisted
. He squashed it. He couldn’t rule Adele out completely. She could be playing him. While it was hard to visualize her behind the wheel or the rifle, she could have hired someone.
Christ knew the family had plenty of money. He glanced around the bright modern lines of Adele’s condo. The Renaissance condos, at least ones this size, cost a cool two million. Where had the money come from? Her grandmother? Her mother? What about her father? What had Aaron Hart’s net worth been at the time of his death?
While Lena Hart had brought most of the wealth into the marriage, Aaron must have been worth something toward the end of his life, yet Becca hadn’t mentioned inheriting anything from him. Maybe the motive here was about greed rather than hatred.
“What happened to your father’s estate,” Rio asked.
Adele cocked her head slightly as she stared at him, a confused look flickering through her eyes. “Most of it went to Mom. But Adam and I each got a percentage.”
“And Becca? Did she get a percentage too?”
A frown joined the confusion on Adele’s face. “I don’t know. She wasn’t at Dad’s funeral or the meeting with the probate lawyers. Mother never mentioned her sharing in Dad’s estate.”
Surprise raised his eyebrows. Aaron had cut Becca out of his will? That didn’t seem likely. Had Becca contested the will? He’d ask her, but he doubted it. She was giving most of her inheritance from Hopewell away. His chest lightened and warmed beneath an unexpected swell of pride. A woman like that wouldn’t fight over money.
And if she hadn’t been interested in fighting for her share of her dad’s estate, then why kill her to keep it? Which took him right back to the hatred angle.
“What about your brother? How did Adam treat Becca while she was living with you?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes at the question. “Terrible. But then Adam treated everyone horribly.”
“Would you say he hated her?” He cocked his head, watching her face closely.
Her eyes went unfocused at the question, as though she were thinking. After a few moments of silence, she offered a slight shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Loyalty Under Fire (Operation: Hot Spot Book 3) Page 13
