by Lucy Ryder
Shaking her head at the idiocy of the male species, Frankie grabbed her phone and got out, then took the stairs and stepped over the threshold into the dark house.
“Nate?”
In the ambient light, she could see very little in the way of furniture, as if he hadn’t bothered to decorate the place. But when she ventured in a little further and caught sight of a sawhorse, piles of planks and machine tools, she was reminded of all the DIY scenes she’d been called to because guys thought that having a Y chromosome meant they could use power tools without reading the safety instructions.
What if…?
Stop it, she ordered silently. He’s fine. He’s an ex-Navy SEAL, for God’s sake, and…and he’d better be fine.
Or she was going to kill him herself.
“Nathan?”
Being greeted by further silence, Frankie did a quick tour of the living room, kitchen, study—which had been turned into a home gym—and headed down the short passage to the master bedroom. Half expecting to find him passed out on his bed, she was surprised—and more than a little concerned—to find it not only empty but as neat as a pin.
Beginning to panic, because it seemed more and more likely that something bad had happened to him, Frankie retraced her steps. She was just about to call 911 when she heard a soft sound coming from the deck. She whipped her head toward it and noticed that the French doors were standing open.
The newly built deck was in darkness when she stepped out and looked around before heading for the flimsy makeshift railing. Carefully peering over the side, she hoped she’d be able to see him if he’d fallen over the edge…but equally praying that she wouldn’t see anything but rocks.
The sun had by now dropped into the sea and she could see…absolutely nothing. She gritted her teeth. It meant she’d have to get her flashlight and do a little night recon. Muttering to herself about stupid alpha guys and their stupid big egos, Frankie turned to retrace her steps when a deep, rough bedroom voice growled, “Get away from the damn edge,” nearly giving her a coronary.
She gave a startled yelp and stumbled backward—right into those flimsy bits of wood. There was an ominous crack as a plank abruptly gave way behind her. She opened her mouth to gasp, “Seriously?” and tried to grab onto something solid, but her heel caught the edge of some planks and she felt herself begin to fall.
She had a flashback to the night of the storm, thought, Well, this sucks…fully expecting to go tumbling backward onto the rocks below when hard fingers closed around her wrist and she was yanked forward against a hard body with enough force to knock the breath from her lungs.
“Oomph,” she said.
At the same time an irritated male voice snarled, “What the hell, woman?”
Adrenaline flashing through her at warp speed, Frankie clung to the only solitary, steady, solid thing in a dangerously unstable world. Then again Nate had always been a rock—a really big, hard, yummy rock. A rock whose heart was pounding almost as hard as hers and muttering curses that ended with, “It’s a full-time job keeping you out of trouble.”
Reminded that she was giving up men permanently, Frankie snatched her hands off him and glared up into the achingly familiar face above hers. Only, instead of the hot sexy expression he’d been wearing the last time she’d been this close, he was scowling at her as though she was the last person he wanted to see.
Before she could stop it, hurt sliced through her and in reaction she shoved away from him…only to be roughly yanked back and forcefully removed from the edge of the deck. “What’s wrong with you?” he growled roughly. “Do you have a death wish?”
Slapping at his hands, she gulped and gasped at the same time, which should have been impossible but totally wasn’t. Realizing she was trembling—from relief at the near disaster, she told herself and not because he was warm and she was tempted to bury her face in his neck—Frankie planted her palms on his chest and shoved, aggravation ratcheting up a couple of notches when he remained as steady as a mountain.
Steady, when she felt as though she was floundering in quicksand.
He pulled back with a look that said she was crazy before saying, “You’re welcome, by the way, for saving you.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, like maybe the fact that she’d nearly died had affected him. But then she took in his tousled hair and the pillow crease on his cheek and realized he’d been napping.
Taking a freaking nap while she’d been on the verge of panicking.
He gave her a little shake and demanded, “You think I should have given you a nudge instead, Francis?”
Frankie realized in a blinding flash of awareness that he hadn’t needed to give her a nudge at all. She sucked in a horrified breath as she realized that she’d gone and done what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
She’d fallen. Flat on her face. All by herself.
Again. For the only man on the face of the planet to drive her completely crazy. Only this time it was no teenage crush.
She backed away, realizing this was the second stupidest thing she’d ever done. Actually, no, she amended. Falling for Nate was by far the stupidest thing she’d ever done because all she’d got for diving off Devil’s Point other than the nickname Fearless Frankie had been a broken arm. This was…well, she’d be lucky to survive without a broken heart.
Something that was a lot harder to fix.
Furious—at herself more than him—Frankie spun away to stalk across the deck, breathing like she’d run up the north face of the Olympic mountains. She needed a moment—heck, she needed a whole bunch—and maybe to hide in the dark too, because that penetrating gaze always saw way too much.
Frankly, she’d rather throw herself off the deck than have him see what she’d only just discovered herself. Something that was as doomed now as it had been when she’d been a kid.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded, momentarily unsure whether she was asking him or herself. Spinning around to face him again, she decided to handle him first. She’d deal with herself later.
And then there’d be hell to pay.
“You don’t answer your phone. You abandon your truck ten miles away and then when I get here your front door is wide open and you’re nowhere to be found. I was about to call 911, thinking you’d fallen off your deck, you…you—”
“I felt a little queasy and decided to walk,” he interrupted roughly, and Frankie was glad because she couldn’t think of a bad enough name to call him. But he’d already lost interest in her, turning to inspect the broken railing and muttering something about “damn fool women”…or was that woman, as in singular?
She yelped, “Excuse me? I’m not the idiot here. You are, thinking you’re so tough and invincible.”
Ignoring her, Nate grabbed a nearby plank and a discarded hammer and went to work repairing the rail. “What are you doing here, Frankie?” he demanded in a voice that was as tired as it was distant.
Momentarily distracted by the play of muscles in his back and arms, Frankie thought, Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk. Fine. He could darn well listen—but it would have been nice if he’d at least pretend to be happy to see her.
“I heard you fainted at the hospital and then refused to let Paige drive yo—”
“I did not faint,” he interrupted, straightening with a snap and sounding as though she’d just insulted his manhood. “Women faint, and even if Paige hadn’t been busy I…” He lifted one hand to press a couple of fingers into his forehead like he had a headache. “Look, I don’t need a babysitter, okay? I’m fine.”
“And I do, is that what you’re saying?”
His sigh sounded more than a little impatient. “All I’m saying is that I’m an adult. I don’t need anyone checking up on me like I’m ten.”
She snorted and stomped closer. “Right. That’s why you left your truck on the side of the road? Because you’re an adult?” His fleeting glance was unreadable before he dropped the hammer into the nearby toolbox.
Incensed by his air of masculine superiority, Frankie cocked one hip and shoved her hands on her hips to glare at him. “Oh, right, silly me. I forgot for a moment that SEALs are immune to the same weakness that occasionally afflicts the rest of humanity.”
He nudged her away from the edge, put himself between her and the flimsy rail, then folded his arms across his mile-wide chest and stared down at her as though she was speaking Swahili.
“You’re human, Nate,” she snapped. “You hurt, you bleed. Not…” she poked his pec with her finger “…a cyborg. Or some stupid superhero dodging bullets or healing in the blink of an eye. Someone who should accept a hand from his friends once in a while, instead of thinking he’s everyone else’s self-appointed protector.”
He arched a dark brow. “You wanna go there, princess?”
It was Frankie’s turn to demand, “What is that supposed to mean?”
He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Nothing. Look, I’m fine, okay? And for your information, I’m no hero.” He gave a harsh laugh and folded his arms across his chest. “You, better than anyone, know exactly how human I am.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he was talking about and shut it with a snap when he just arched a brow, clearly reminding her of the other night when he—
Face flaming, she sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly grateful for the darkness that hid her expression from those golden-brown eyes. Eyes that seemed to see everything yet gave nothing away.
“Aaargh,” she growled in frustration. “Trust a stupid man to bring that up.” She squeezed her head between her hands and turned away but then something occurred to her and she spun back round. “And since you did, let’s talk about that, shall we?” She lowered her hands and scowled at him. “And the way you left. Sneaking out like I…” She swallowed an unpleasant notion. “Like I’m something you’re ashamed of.”
His expression abruptly closed down and his mouth firmed into a tight line of irritation, leaving him looking about as approachable as a grizzly. “Let’s not.”
“Fine,” Frankie snapped, and before she could stop it, the implication that he was ashamed of her lodged like a sharp ache right beside her heart.
He must have seen something in her expression because he sighed and looked pained. “Frankie—”
“No, it’s okay.” She gave a shaky laugh and spun away. “I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve disappointed someone—or you, for that matter. And given my track record, it’s not likely to be the last.”
“It’s not you. It’s—”
She turned on him with a warning snarl. “Finish that and I’ll gut you like a fish.”
He sighed as though she was a huge pain in the butt. “Just drop it, okay?”
“Why? Because you said so?” She asked, annoyed with his calm inscrutability when she was certain steam was escaping from her ears. “Because you’re an ex-Navy SEAL who can kill with a single blow?” Furious and hurting, she couldn’t stop the words pouring out of her mouth. “Because ‘heroes’ don’t need to have a reason or explain themselves to lesser mortals?”
He closed his hand over hers and the ease with which he managed to render her immobile had Frankie’s simmering temper igniting.
“I thought…” She drew in a shuddery breath and yanked her hand away, surprised when Nate released her. She wrapped her arms around herself as though to protect herself from the memory of losing someone she cared about. She’d loved her brother and his death had hit her hard, but she knew losing Nate would devastate her. “We were worried about you, Nate.” I was worried about you.
“I’m fine.” His tone was coolly dismissive, as was the way he folded his arms across his chest. “Look, it was a…mistake. I blame myself because it shouldn’t have happened.” Frankie blinked and opened her mouth to ask him what he was talking about when Nate continued. “You and I?” He waggled a long masculine finger between them. “Not going to happen again. Ever.”
For a long moment Frankie stared up into his face—half-hidden in shadows—and felt herself go cold because she’d just realized something horrifying. Something so mortifying that it left her feeling exposed and raw…because somewhere buried deep she’d harbored the small, fragile hope that one day—
Oh, hell, no.
Swallowing past the burning lump of humiliation that lodged in her throat, she gave a short, ragged laugh. “You…you arrogant, self-important…ass.” Her reaction must have surprised him because a wrinkle appeared between his dark brows and he was suddenly looking at her like she was live ammo likely to go off any moment. “What makes you think I want a you and me?”
He didn’t reply but one dark brow hiked up his forehead.
Infuriated, she gasped, “You’re joking, right? You…” she jabbed a finger at him “…are the last man on earth that I’d want anything with. The last man I’d look to for anything other than a few quick orgasms.”
His expression hardened. “Why, because my father was the town loser who lied and cheated his way into every woman’s bed? A man whose word meant about as much as his marriage vows?”
“What?” Frankie’s mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”
He sighed and thrust an impatient hand through his hair, leaving it more rumpled than ever. “Maybe. But my word happens to mean something.”
What? Frowning, Frankie curled her hands into tight fists and then folded her arms beneath her breasts when her fingers itched to smooth all that thick silky mess. She shook her head to clear it. “You’re not making any sense. Have you been drinking?”
Hands shoved into his pockets, he turned to stare out at the bay. In the darkness, Frankie saw his jaw flex and for a long moment thought he wouldn’t reply. Finally, he said quietly, unemotionally, “I made a promise.”
Okay, so that wasn’t what Frankie had expected. “A what?” She shook her head, confused. “I mean, to whom?”
He sent her a brief unreadable glance. “I promised Jack I’d look out for you.”
She stared at him, more than a little stunned by the news. “J-Jack? Wha—”
Somehow Frankie had known this moment would come, when she would be forced to talk about Jack.
She stared at Nate, hoping for some sign of softening, but his profile might as well have been carved in granite. “The night before we shipped out that first time,” he said flatly, “he made me swear that if anything ever happened to him, I’d look out for you.”
“Seriously? I was a kid then, Nate, something I no longer am—in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I broke my promise to my best friend,” he continued with quiet intensity. “A promise I swore to keep, no matter what.”
“Jack’s dead.”
“Which is why I—”
“He’s gone, Nate,” she interrupted abruptly. “Gone, trying to be a damn hero.”
“He was a hero,” he said with quiet intensity.
Frankie sucked in the sharp edge of grief that threatened to overwhelm her and spun away. “Yes. And look where that got him.”
He sighed, the sound heavy with apology, regret and his own grief. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” Sorry for so many things. “But I’m not thirteen anymore, Nate,” she reminded him tersely. “I’m a big girl now. I have a job, pay all my own bills and manage to dress and feed myself every morning.” She pressed shaking fingers to her temples, where a blinding headache had finally exploded into being. “Besides, the Jack I knew would hardly expect you to honor some silly adolescent pledge for all eternity.”
“Then you didn’t know your brother,” he drawled in a tone that said she was being overly dramatic and difficult. “He meant it and so did I.”
“Arrrgh!” Her frustration emerged as a growl. “I don’t need some man thinking I need a keeper and it’s…it’s insulting that you think I do.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” he said quietly, implacably, confirming what Frankie was beginning to realize. Nate viewed her as one of hi
s responsibilities.
Only she didn’t need saving. She never had.
“I am not your responsibility, Nate,” she snapped. “I’m no one’s responsibility.” Struggling to control her breathing, Frankie wondering if her hair was smoking because it felt like her brain was boiling inside her skull. “Who do you think you are?” she continued when she could form words.
“Frankie—”
“How dare you! What right do you have to assume responsibility for me?”
“Jack—”
“Don’t you dare,” she interrupted furiously. “Don’t you dare add me to the rest of your responsibilities, Nate. In fact…” She blinked back tears and spun away from him, determined that he never know how much his words, his attitude tore at her. Never know that she felt as though she’d been gut shot.
Sucking in a shaky breath, she headed for the doors. “In fact, you can just write me off as a…a loser and forget you ever—”
Before she’d taken two steps, Frankie was spun around and slammed up against his hard body. She gave a surprised squeak that was instantly swallowed as his mouth covered hers in a kiss filled with such fury, frustration and wild need that she instinctively brought up her hands to soothe.
She had a moment to think, What…? before he growled, “And don’t you dare call what we did ‘just sex’, Francis,” he growled, pulling away and leaving her swaying at the abrupt assault on her senses.
“Go home, Frankie,” he said quietly, wiping his hands down his face as though he was beyond weary and, without another word, turned to face the darkened bay—obviously done with the conversation.
Obviously done with her.
Hurt burrowed deep and for several beats she stared at his wide, tense shoulders, her heart squeezing at the image he presented. Big. Tough. Distant. As isolated as the mountain peaks he faced. A man alone, shouldering the burdens of everyone around him.
But he didn’t have to and she didn’t want to be a weight he carried on his shoulders. She was a strong, independent woman who could shoulder her own burdens—and maybe some of his.
She opened her mouth to tell him but another look at the implacable set of his shoulders told her that he’d never let her close enough to help. Never let her close enough to care.