Saint

by Zoe Dawson

  His thick, tawny hair was wet and slicked back off his face, long enough to curl around the back of his ear where he was so sensitive. He was beautiful not only physically, but dangerous to her thought process, a warrior who never backed down. All in, all the time, never out of the fight, get back up every time. His mind was as seductive as his beautiful body. She watched him drag the cloth over his chest, the well-defined pectorals, the round disk of his nipple, the water running over ripped abs, flat belly all the way to the waistband of his camo pants. She remembered he had strong, large, sure hands.

  A surge of melting pleasure washed through her, leaving a slight tremor in its wake. A wave of protectiveness stirred in her. She longed to touch him, wanted him to know how very much she’d needed him in the dark hours of her capture and imprisonment. Her fingers tingled, sensitized by the anticipation of smoothing them over his sleek skin.

  The faint tinkle of wind chimes drifted in through the windows. She thought about his eyes when he’d said those words. I could have lost you.

  A somberness in his eyes tugged at her heart. With a start of recognition, she realized that the last time she’d seen that deep, self-contained expression was when she’d gotten tossed around in that van in Bosnia and broken her tibia, driving it through her skin. She’d been trapped in her own turmoil and stubbornness in refusing to give up the fight, needing something indefinable, a desperate compulsion that gnawed at her.

  She’d been out of it most of the time, but she’d woken up once in the helicopter. He was beside her, haggard and exhausted, her hand tightly clasped between both of his. In a low, strained voice, he told her that she would be all right. When they had arrived at the hospital, he hadn’t left her side, and he had hung onto her hand as if he didn’t dare let go.

  Caught in the time warp, she tried to release the sudden tightness in her chest. Saint turned his head, his gaze connecting with hers, and for an instant there was an unspoken communication between them that was inexplicably restrained, yet remarkably revealing—one that silently acknowledged, and accepted her regret. Suddenly the ache in her throat was for his silent pain.

  He’d been terrified when she’d been captured, tortured by thoughts of what they would do to her, how she would suffer, a woman at the hands of a ruthless warlord known for his conquests, Saint’s woman.

  Her anger fragmented.

  His harsh words hadn’t been to censure her.

  Her death would have devastated him.

  Not only did she realize the depth of her love for him, but he loved her just as deeply.

  13

  “Aella,” Yasmiin’s voice was just outside the door and without a word to him, she turned and left. She needed some time to assimilate this information. Leaving him to his misery was one of the hardest things Aella had ever done. She smiled at Yasmin, who took her arm and ushered her toward the place of celebration, her insides still quivering, a little nub of anxiety trying to develop into something more.

  Damn, she wanted all this behind them. She wanted to bring that bastard Darko to justice and get out of this dangerous country, but she wanted more than that, too. Much more. She wanted time alone with Saint, uninterrupted time. They desperately needed a chance to talk, sort things out. Saint might just lock up everything inside him and never give them a chance to hash it out. That wasn’t something she enjoyed contemplating when they needed to explore their feelings, to talk about the things they had stored away months ago. She knew, deep down inside her, that before they could go forward, they had to go back. And that was a little frightening.

  “You are going to love my family…our village. We have prepared much to eat, and I feel like I have been hungry for a year.” She laughed, and Aella tried to dredge up some interest in food and festivity when she was hungry for something else completely.

  Yasmiin had always been a perceptive youngster and when Aella didn’t respond, she stopped and turned, her expression sobering. She put her arm around Aella and hugged her, her voice quiet. “What is it, pretty lady. What has happened?”

  “Things are…complicated with Saint.”

  “I knew he was your man.” She scoffed, “Pah, men are always complicated and stupid.”

  That dragged a laugh out of Aella.

  “As long as you’re beside him, Saint will be able to handle anything that comes his way.” Yasmiin hugged her again, then grasped her shoulders and looked at her, her eyes steady with quiet admonishment. “What is important right now is that you rest and let the pressure of what we have all experienced wash away in the joy of family and friends.”

  Wisdom out of the mouth of babes. Aella closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, trying to quell the churning in her stomach. Then she looked at her little friend, a wave of gratitude making her eyes burn. “I’m so glad to have met you, even under the circumstances that brought us together,” Aella said unevenly. “I don’t know what I would have done without you all.”

  “And us, too. You saved us. We will never forget it. It makes me want to weep to think about you leaving us, but you must, and we must go on with our lives that you and Saint have given back to us.” Yasmiin smiled and gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “No more sappy stuff.” She took Aella’s hand, her tone brisk. “Now we party.”

  The village was gathered together, and people were setting dishes on a long table, the aromas made her stomach cramp with hunger.

  Yasmiin smiled. “See much food.” She let out a strong whooping sound and everyone responded. Their verve for life was inspiring and uplifting.

  The parents of the children touched her, thanking her, taking her hands and squeezing them, hugging her, the older ones kissing both of her cheeks. She was overwhelmed with their gratitude.

  She turned when Uba broke from the group and yelled, “Saint is here.” She ran to him, and he scooped her up into his arms for a hard hug. She remembered how he had carried Uba through most of their trek, carved and crafted that dolly for her, wrestled that croc for her, gave her CPR and saved her life, and Aella’s heart just melted.

  She wondered if he was even aware of his own strength. Her thoughts drifted and she wondered about his inner strength. He’d never once wavered in his decisions—coming after her through insurmountable odds, never faltering when faced with saving not only her, but six kids, facing down an attack helicopter spitting hot lead that could cripple or kill him, getting them food, killing those men, and keeping calm and strong through it all. A formidable leader.

  Affected by those recollections, Aella watched him, an incredible fullness pressing in around her heart. To have that caliber of a man fall in love with her…well it was humbling.

  Yasmiin said something cheeky to him, and Saint grinned, caught her in a headlock, scrubbing his knuckles against her head. Yasmiin and Uba were laughing as were the other children and their families.

  Saint was still grinning when he turned and saw Aella watching him. He stopped, his expression altering into something strong and intense as he stared at her, his gaze setting off a crazy, wild fluttering in her chest. He held her gaze for a moment, then his jaw tensed, and he turned away. Understanding the tension in him, she watched him interact with the people, a fierce longing spilling into her bloodstream. A longing to touch him, to be held and touched back, to feel his warmth and strength around her.

  She pulled her eyes from him when people started filling their plates. Aella had researched the country before she’d gone undercover to find Darko and Zasha. She knew that Somalia was mostly a nomadic culture where people were organized in clans, but with influences by the English, French and Italian which, of course, influenced their cuisine. Their meals revolved around meat, often goat, camel, sheep or lamb, and when they could get it— rarely—beef. The meal they were consuming consisted of lamb, beans, vegetables, and fruit. The beans were served with butter, along with millet cakes.

  Everything was delicious. After everyone had eaten their fill, there were the soft strains of drums, a flute and cl
appers. People got up to dance, which mostly consisted of hopping and clapping. It was beautiful to watch.

  Then Yasmiin pulled Saint up and everyone laughed and clapped as she taught him the dance. He gave her a shrug and a wry half smile that was so charming, all the ladies couldn’t help but swoon. His natural athletic ability served him well as he got into it and gave the people a run for their money.

  When the music ended, he stared at her for a moment and his face creased with a self-effacing smile. He walked over to the musicians and bent over to talk to them. The music went soft and lilting.

  Then he turned and started walking toward her. As he drew closer, she could see the tension in him. His expression only made her ache inside. She watched him approach, so much emotion churning inside her that she didn’t think she could hold it all in. Her eyes suddenly brimming, she smiled at him through her tears. “Show off,” she murmured.

  She saw his expression falter, saw the flash of something fleeting in his eyes, then the tightness around his eyes relaxed. Aella wanted to hold him so badly. Instead, she looked up at him, her heart in her eyes.

  He offered his hand. “Now we’ll perform a traditional dance from the United States.” She put her hand into his, the warmth of his palm sending shivers down her spine, tightening her fingers around his, trying to tell Saint by touch alone that she understood.

  “You know the waltz, yes?” he asked gruffly. Saint’s half grin took on a special warmth, the sparkle in his eyes softening into a steady gaze that was intimate, intoxicating, and very sensual.

  She nodded. She’d learned it for her brother’s wedding. “I do.”

  He stared down at her, then looked away and swallowed hard, his grip almost crushing. He led her out to the middle of the dance area. He drew her against him, the weight of his hand against her back, pressing her deeper into his embrace. Trying to hold in all her emotions, she set her hand on his biceps, hard and thick beneath her palm. They began moving to the soft music, drawn into the closeness of their own private space. The sensual, intimate tempo folded around them, the power and eloquence of his lead stirring.

  “Zach,” she whispered, a deep, heartfelt joy making her voice tremble. Moving to the rhythm of the music, he stared down at her, his gaze dark, intense, unwavering, searching. Tightening his hold on her hand, he pressed her knuckles against his mouth, his face carved with emotion. Drawing a deep breath, he drew her closer, urging her head against his jaw. Then he tucked their joined hands against his chest, breaking the traditional hold, letting the melody take them away.

  He was a wonderful, rhythmic dancer, and moving with him to the music was pure pleasure. She craved the physical closeness, the feeling of being enveloped in his strength, the feel of his body moving against hers.

  “Where did you learn to dance like this?”

  Saint tightened his hold and brushed his mouth against her temple, a trace of amusement in his gruff voice. “SEALs have to be prepared for every contingency. I had a forward-thinking drill instructor.”

  Aella lifted her head, giving him an affectionate, skeptical look. “Get out. You learned this at BUD/S?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, my partner was a bit brawnier than you and didn’t smell as good,” he said huskily.

  “The next best thing to combat, right?”

  He gave her an irresistible half grin, an intimate sparkle in his eyes. “There’s only one thing it’s next best to, and it isn’t combat, babe.”

  Feeling like she needed to fan herself, she held his gaze, smiling up at him. “I wasn’t aware.”

  His grin and glint intensified. “The hell you weren’t.”

  She laughed.

  “I’m expected to attend parties, galas, and gatherings and know what I’m doing. I do make a pretty wallflower in my uniform, but the brass wouldn’t be too pleased if I didn’t mingle. It would be criminal to leave any beautiful woman without a dashing partner.”

  She laughed at his wallflower joke. No woman who was breathing could mistake him for wallpaper. Of course, his smooth grace conjured up visions of him in his dress uniform at some military function. This train of thought was counterproductive as it made her knees weak, and she really needed to fan herself.

  That was when Yasmiin broke in. “You teach me this dance,” she demanded. Aella bowed out as he taught her the box step and she picked it up pretty quickly.

  Then he tackled Uba, but that was easy, because she just stood on his instep. Unable to drag her eyes away, Aella watched him, a swell of tenderness and unexpected longing clogged her throat. There was no doubt this man would make a great dad, and for the first time, she thought about kids of her own. Was it something she wanted? Did she want to be like her father dragging their family all over kingdom come or did she want to settle in one place and get domestic?

  Saint made her rethink her life and ambitions. Something she would never have expected before she’d met him. Maybe she had always had these feelings and her fear had overridden them. A loner couldn’t have a family or a full life.

  No, he was no wallflower and would never blend in. He had that certain aura about him, the stamp of unadulterated masculinity, of sexual intensity, that somehow magnified his physical strength. But it wasn’t his looks or his gorgeous body that made him stand out in a crowd, she realized. It was his quiet air of assurance. In spite of his warrior abilities, he was a man who was very secure in his own masculinity, whose strength of character had shaped and molded his life. There was no half measure in him. He was part of an elite class of men who always went to the max.

  What would she sacrifice to have him for the long-term? Be the father of her children?

  Long deployments, distance parenting, the stress and worry while he was on the battlefield. But, oh, God, what she would gain.

  Her whole world seemed to shift off its axis, a sensual recognition of the man he was. And she knew. Without a doubt, she knew she was never going to be the same. Transfixed by that one staggering revelation, she bowed her head. Meeting him had changed the course of her life and she was standing at a crossroads.

  After the dancing, Uba’s grandfather told a hilarious story about a camel, him, and getting lost.

  Suddenly, this country wasn’t so awful. Sure, there were humanitarian issues, war, famine, child soldiers, and forced marriages to too-young girls and teens, along with a terrorist organization gaining strength, but there was also community, hard work, sharing, family, and a whole hell of a lot of love.

  She started back for the house they were going to sleep in. Once the new day dawned, they would be moving on, away from this village. Omar was still after her, but she hoped like hell, the girls, especially Yasmiin would live out their lives here with men they chose to be with.

  She slipped inside and stood there, waiting.

  When he entered, she faced him, pain racing through her, and she tightly folded her arms in front of her, bleakness chilling her. “I’m sorry, Saint. I know what you want me to say and do, but I can’t give up, no matter how much danger it puts me in. I have a duty to my job and to bringing in Darko. There is no backing down from a mass murderer who broke numerous laws in the US.”

  He stared at her a moment, then straightened, his tone flat. “It doesn’t have to be you, Aella.”

  Gripping her forearms, Aella tried to will away the thickness that was growing in her chest, a thickness that was rooted in monumental regret. Regret for how she’d hurt him in the past, regret for how she was going to hurt him again. Her voice firm, she said quietly, “Yes it does. We can talk about this all we want, but the bottom line is I have a job to do, and it’s not done.”

  His face was carved by strain, his eyes shadowed by some emotion she could only guess at—his need to protect her. “This isn’t just your problem, it’s ours.”

  She had to say what she needed to before she broke down. “It will be a problem if you try to block me in any way. I’m not going home.”

  Saint bent his head and dragged his hand ac
ross his eyes, then inhaled raggedly. “Aella…”

  “No,” she said brokenly, “hear me out.” She brushed her fingertips across her cheeks, trying to clear away the tears. “Jason’s death has to mean something. If I don’t finish this, whatever we did was in vain. He died for nothing, and I can’t live with that. I need you to understand that.” Her desolation stripped her bare, and she made one last, desperate plea. “Please, Zach.”

  “Dammit, Aella,” he whispered, his face contorting with raw emotion as he reached for her. “Don’t cry, babe. I do understand. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  She went into his arms, and she felt a shudder course through him as he closed his arms around her in a rough embrace.

  Catching him by the back of the head, Aella closed her eyes and hung on to him, unable to breathe. She cried softly for Jason, finally letting go of that ball of pain lodged in her chest, something she hadn’t had the time to handle between being taken and running for her life. Saint crushed her closer, rocking her gently. “It’s okay, babe,” he choked out. “It’s okay.”

  Unable to check her tears, Aella made a low sound, a crazy kind of pain claiming her. It was like Saint knew that pain, knew the cause of it, and with a hoarse sound, he shifted her head back and found her mouth, his savage kiss tasting of tears and grief. Of course, Saint would recognize that emotion. He was a warrior and a medic. He’d lost men on the battlefield. Every single one of his losses were personal.

  A low sob escaped her, and he dragged his hand up her back, molding them together in a crushing hold, his other hand immobilizing her head as his mouth turned hot, hungry and ravaging. Locking her arms around him, she yielded everything—her mouth, her body, her strength—driven by a need that burned through to her very soul. It was as if her desperation fired the desperation in him, and suddenly everything was out of control.

  Widening his stance, Saint dragged her up into the cradle of his thighs, the hard ridge of his flesh meshing with her softness, and suddenly Aella couldn’t breathe again for totally different reasons. She couldn’t think, for the thick pulsing urgency swelling inside her.