by Angel Payne
“Except momma bear,” he pointed out.
“Yeah.” She sniffed, clearly fighting back tears. “But momma bears learn to deal with this kind of shit.”
He tugged her a little closer, as much for his own comfort as hers. Watching how this separation—if only for a few days from a son who was happy and alive—affected Tracy gouged him with remorse for what his beautiful makuahine must be enduring. To this very minute, the woman who’d given him life, in more senses of the word than one, still thought she’d memorialized her eldest son three days ago. She wasn’t dealing with it well, either. Lino’s minimal words on the subject, when he’d finally gotten around to saying anything at all, were blatant as blood on rice paper about it.
He steeled his jaw.
He couldn’t mourn the unchangeable circumstances right now.
Forward.
Move forward. Focus on what you can change.
That meant no more playing South Pacific with his adorable wahine. Time to get his ass back up to the cottage, where Lino was working to transform the living room into a miniature command center capable of helping him comb out every speck of cyberspace lice there was about Sol Wrightman.
Wasn’t going to be just a two-man job, thanks to Tait Bommer and Kellan Rush. The attached-at-the-hip comrades, once his ace sniper team for missions, had expanded their skill set considerably since joining SHRC, an ultra-elite team of covert operatives made up of the most tenacious bastards from all the branches of Special Forces. Franz had hated signing the pair’s transfer requests to the Sharks but was still happy as hell for them, since the opportunity allowed them to stay in Hawaii, where they both found personal fulfillment. The fact that they found it with the same woman, who had been like a third little sister since he and she were kids, had definitely been the harder “paperwork” to “approve”—but when Lani Kail arrived with the guys a few hours ago, Franz admitted he’d never seen her look happier. She’d found her unique version of true happiness—and who was he to call bullshit if that involved two lovers instead of one? Hadn’t he been closer to heaven than ever just a day ago, getting to fill up his subbie as an audience of dozens approved?
A person didn’t get to pick how they were hard-wired. Hell, the wires were usually the easiest part.
The hard part?
Finding the one with the circuit board that didn’t short yours out.
Circuit boards feeling as right as the woman under his arm.
Wires as awesome as her hand roaming under his tank and then skating fingernails up and down his back. Connections inspiring his contented sigh as he rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “At least you’ll have some good girl time tonight. Gem and Ronnie already seem to like Lani.”
“What’s there not to like?” She swirled fingers across his lower back, teasing at the top of his board shorts. “Besides, I’m looking forward to plying the woman with wine and hearing a few stories from the childhood annals of the Franzen family.”
He groaned. Halted. Circled her around into a deep, wet, tangle of a kiss. Her answering moan came with her bolder touch, slipping beneath the shorts to cup his ass. He groaned in return. Fuck, this work attire was way better than BDUs, body plates, and eighty pounds of weapons and survival equipment. Thank the gods for brothers like Tait, who brought spare clothes along with a six-pack for the evening’s fun.
Borrowed clothes. Borrowed jets. Borrowed condos. Borrowed time. The wild boys of his battalion, as well as the amazing females they’d chosen for their lives, were literally giving everything they could to help him figure out this insanity, all while pretending his ass was still a cremated pile of ash at the Bellagio villas. They astounded him. Humbled him. Came through like true brothers, without any questions. Without any doubts. With complete trust.
The same trust resonating through his woman’s deep sigh now…
Just before she moved back from him by a small step.
Just before she tried mitigating that meaning with a soft smile.
A smile never making it to her eyes.
An anomaly she obviously hoped he’d catch.
A smile kicked up his lips too. She was so easy to understand. Even easier to adore. But best of all, to really help, beyond being her bodyguard or hired gun. This was the job description he liked best of all. Being her heart’s hero too.
“Popoki.” He gave her hips a pair of gentle tugs, itching for her hands to find their way to his ass again. No dice, but that was okay too. As her palms flattened to his chest, more new details betrayed her changing mood. The hesitant twitches at the corners of her mouth. The drop of her gaze to the tips of her fingers, jabbing a little against his heartbeat. “Hey. What is it?”
She sneaked her tongue across her lips. “John.”
“Tracy?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Gods help me.”
She didn’t take his humorous bait. Shit. Maybe the gods really did need to get their asses down here.
“When this is all over…I’m going to be out a Director of Security.”
His pulse revved but then skidded to a stop. That was usually what pulses did when the gigantic writing on the wall was revealed, right?
“Yes,” he murmured with deliberation. “I imagine you will be.”
Her kitten tongue jutted again. Enticing him, even now. Captivating him, as she visibly fidgeted for what to say next. “I was hoping—well, after everything that’s happened and how perfectly suited you are for the position—”
He cut her short with his sizable grunt. She was really going to make him read the wall out loud, wasn’t she? “You want me to consider the job.”
Her head jerked back up. No more lip wetting. She was too busy blinking, an open broadcast of bafflement. “Don’t be overly thrilled on my account.”
“No worries there.” His snark was drier than hers, but it worked for the point. The forest she was still missing through a lot of damn trees—none of which got in her way as she flattened her hands and pushed off, stumbling back by two big steps.
“What the hell? I thought you’d jump at this.”
“Jump? Like a shiny new pony?” Again, more wry control—instantly earning a new chunk of self-hate. Yeah, hating himself. Fucking flogging himself for defaulting to this sarcasm instead of summoning the balls to order all the bullshit out of his soul’s cellar—out to where she’d see it. Know it. Understand it.
“Okay, murder the bee in that bonnet.” She tossed her head impatiently, as the wind whipped a glistening brown chunk into her face. Throughout it all, her gaze never lost its incensed fire. “Is that what you really think? That I’m offering this to you as my token stud pony? Payment for services rendered?”
He dipped his own head. Unbelievably, he didn’t have a comeback. For the first time since their hands had first clasped, this wasn’t a reaction he’d expected from her.
For this first time since they’d met…he had no damn idea what she was thinking.
“Turn the camera around,” he finally leveled, folding his arms. “If you were looking through the lens, what would you see? How would you feel?”
Her hands braced to her hips. “Grateful,” she spat. “I’d feel completely, overwhelmingly thankful, damn it.” The tops of her shoulders trembled with ire—a move that, in any other time or place, would’ve had him dying to soothe that tension with the flat of his tongue. Right now, his whole mouth was school paste as she kept going. “I’d feel like a well-qualified, highly skilled soldier, newly shafted by the brass who were always supposed to have his back, now offered a chance to serve at the pleasure of the president of the United States.”
“Ahhh, yes. Serving at your pleasure.” He added a laugh to the drawl, unable to help himself—probably having to do with the inescapable bitterness behind the sound. Shittiest thing? Most of it was self-directed. She was right. He should be grateful. He had exactly what he’d been asking the universe for. A direction. A purpose. But all he could fixate on was the
metaphorical bridle around his head, along with the saddle on his back. “Gotten the pony to the water, haven’t you?” Annnd why not go totally for the asshole factor, as long as he was at it? “But will he drink?”
Yep. Asshole. Her face crumpled in, confirming it in spades, before she wrestled her composure back into place with a tigress mode glower. “I’m not swimming in your metaphorical mess this time. John.” Her eyes flared, battling tears, to no avail. “Because I’m already drowning here, okay? I’m—” Her hands dropped to her sides. Fisted to the point of tremoring. “I’m trying to figure out something here. Something…anything to…”
The tiny chokes between her words were massive stabs to his soul—and his control. He surged to her, fiercely sweeping her close once more. To his joy and sorrow, she melted into him. Wrapped her arms around him, twisting both hands into the back of his shirt. “I’m…sorry,” he grated into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. It’s not my intention to…drown you. Ever.”
She sniffed against his chest. “So what’s the issue, you big kanapapiki?”
He groaned and then laughed—though this eruption contained true amusement. “Just a few hours after meeting Lani, and she already knows the dirty stuff.”
She returned a light giggle. “Damn right, okole puka.”
“All right, all right,” he groused. “So I deserve that.”
“And you’ll accept the job?”
He hated—hated—deflating her shining joy with his somber, steady gaze. Didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. He had to say this. He had to make her see all the moss on the stones she walked—before either of them slipped and fell on the treacherous shit.
“My beautiful ku'uipo. I am grateful for your offer. But we need to stop and think. If we really started singing this song, what would it sound like? Are the notes going to make people rise up and cheer—or cover their ears and flee the show?”
She huffed. “The show? Who the hell says it’s—”
“It’s a show, Tracy.” He stamped a growl beneath it. “We both know it. Hiding in the dressing room isn’t going to stop this curtain from rising. That means we have to think about what the scene looks like, even from the nosebleed balcony seats. Translated into street side terms, that means the whole fucking world will be watching.”
Her chin jutted and her eyes flashed. “I’m well aware of what that means.”
“Good. So you know you no longer get to be Tracy, and I no longer get to be John. You become the president, and I get to be the guy with the dark glasses and don’t-fuck-with-her scowl. I’ll be invisible—which means I have to stay invisible.”
Her face jerked up even higher. Her gaze anxiously crisscrossed his face. “Which means…what?”
He pulled down a measured swallow. “That if you let me accept this job, you’ll no longer get me in your bed.”
Her breath audibly hitched. She blinked, dazed as if he’d belted her with a two-by-four. “That’s ridiculous.”
He cupped her shoulders. “No. That’s necessary.”
She squirmed against him. Stopped when she realized he wasn’t about to release her. Not by a goddamn long shot.
“John.”
“Tracy?”
He jumped a brow. She thrusted a pout. “We—we’ll be discreet.”
“Fuck discreet.”
Her scowl intensified. The two-by-four changed from splinter board to ironwood, and he was glad of it. No. He was elated. Maybe this time, she got it. Really got it.
Shit.
Damn.
No.
It was time for him to get it. Like a shiv of lightning through his heart. Like a blast of thunder inside his soul.
“Fuck. Discreet.” He forced it out through tight teeth, if only to test if it’d bring on the storm again. Christ. Christ. It was a fucking Cat Five disaster. An intergalactic cataclysm. The Death Star, Krypton, Alderaan, and the Borg cube detonating inside him at once. Every pore in his body started sweating. Every molecule of air left his lungs. His heart, heaving hard, kept him going.
His heart.
His heart.
Pushing him closer to her. Tightening his arms around her. Pushing him…pushing him…
Until he was taking her mouth under his. Parting her lips with his. Sweeping his tongue inside, attempting to consume her just like she’d taken over him. Over all of him. His body. His spirit. His soul.
His heart.
When he finally thought he could attempt it, he dragged away. Even then, with just an inch of space between his face and hers, it felt like miles. How did guys do this when they had to actually leave for months at a time on missions? How the hell was he going to do this, just to get his ass back into the cottage to join Lino, Tait, and Kell?
But first things first.
And the answer he had to give her—had to give her—sure as fuck came first.
“I’m done hiding, Tracy.” One of his hands splayed across her back. He lifted the other to her face, pressing his fingers to her gorgeous skin, telling himself to memorize the shape and feel and warmth of her, only to realize he already had. Days ago. Days that now all seemed but minutes. Minutes he’d sacrifice his goddamn soul to get back. Why had he taken them all for granted? Why hadn’t he known?
Known exactly what his lips now confessed.
“I’m in love with you, Tracy Livia Rhodes.” His voice was a rusty sawblade of stark emotion, and he didn’t care. He cared about nothing but the woman in his arms. The miracle the goddamn universe had finally given to him. And yeah, he cared about telling her exactly that, in his clunky way. “I’m in love with you, and I don’t want to be discreet about it. Ssshhh.” He emphasized the dictate by shoving his fingertips into her hair and yanking hard. “I know this is a shitty thing to lay on you right now. I know the timing couldn’t be worse and that neither of us can do a goddamned thing about it. I know you can’t offer me anything more than what we’ve had this last week…which has been more than what I ever dreamed of.”
He only took a pause because he had to. Because getting the words out meant letting the feelings spill too. All the feelings. So many. Too many. They rushed him like an army of cosmic insurgents, hell-bent on killing him with bullets bearing her name. Exploding with her magic, her life, her light, her passion…
And now, her tears. Streaming down her upturned face, each of them searing a hot, wet trail through his soul before hovering on her parted, quavering lips. “John…oh God…I don’t know…”
“But I do.” He stroked down her jaw and took her lips again, simply brushing them this time. “I do know, kitten.” With a thumb, he swiped the salty wetness off her upper lip. “And because I do…I’m turning your offer down. But I’ll still be watching, okay? Whatever bastard does get lucky enough to preserve your safety, he’d better be ready to answer to me for every fucking move he makes—keeping you safe, for me.”
A halting breath entered her. Exited her on a wet, sparse sob. “Wh-What…d-do you…”
“I’ll be waiting, Tracy.” He lifted his other hand, treasuring her face like a diamond in the setting of his palms. “You tell me you want me there, and I’ll be waiting the second you leave the White House. I’ll be waiting, ready to love you just as deeply and completely as I do right now.”
Her mouth fell open again. Not a single sound spilled out, which was probably a damn good thing. Right now, as he dropped his hands and turned away, only the endless crashes of the waves and the empty whisper of the wind felt like fitting music for the resigned decision of his soul—and the fucking eternity of torture he’d just agreed to put it through.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Margarita for your thoughts?”
The question, coming at her in alpha male stereo, startled Tracy enough to lurch up from the sand. Not that she missed the spot. She’d shed so many tears, the ground was becoming mud beneath her. As she shook more sand out of her dress, she nervously eyed the pair who’d come bearing a tumbler full of liquid gold comfort.
<
br /> Tait Bommer and Kellan Rush were both nearly as tall as Franz, with muscles on top of their muscles—okay, there was a trend here, and she should’ve been used to it—but unlike the other guys she’d met from the battalion, this pair was different. They were like Kaua'i itself. Edging on untamed. Breathtakingly beautiful. Unapologetically sensual. No wonder Lani Kail decided she’d take them both instead of choosing.
Lani wasn’t here now, having to leave the base to pick up her little brother from wrestling practice, but her timing two hours earlier had been tragically perfect. As John had returned to the cottage, she’d been stepping out—just in time to watch Tracy lose it for the first time. As the shock wore into confusion and the amazement became anguish, Lani’s shoulder became the safe haven for all her unhindered tears—and unending remorse.
Why the hell had she let him walk away?
Why the hell hadn’t she confessed her truth too?
Told him how completely she’d fallen in love with him in return?
Fresh tears welled along with the glaring answer to that.
She was going to be taking over the Oval Office soon.
As a single female.
After coming back from the dead.
After tossing the head of her Secret Service detail into prison.
No way would the American public, let alone the supporters she was going to need on the Hill and in the stock markets, be able to deal with a surprise fiancé on top of all that. And no way in hell could he stand by her side as anything but a fiancé.
No. That wasn’t it.
She wanted him as her fiancé. Oh God, she did. With every desire in her heart and thread of her soul. How she craved his smile every morning and his kisses every night. How she yearned for his wisdom about leading men and his insight about taming her. How she longed for his strength on the air she breathed and his passion in the breaths he stole…
She was so screwed.
So yeah, she’d take the damn margarita.
Two seconds after accepting the tumbler, she chugged the drink like it was lemonade in July.