Eye of the Beholder

by Ingrid Weaver

  The moon hadn’t yet risen, but the light from a streetlight outside the window seeped through the louvered shutters to cast a muted glow over the bed. He laid her down in the center and knelt on the mattress by her side. His hands were warm and sure, skimming up her legs, over her thighs, lingering on her breasts, curling around her shoulders and down her arms until she felt too restless for her skin. When she reached for him, he caught her wrists, stretching her arms over her head. With his free hand, he started stroking her all over again.

  She tried to hold back. It was impossible. He knew where to press and where to squeeze and how far he could push. When he leaned over her and nudged her thighs apart, using his mouth to send her over the edge, Glenna turned her head into the pillow to muffle her scream.

  Rafe rested his head on her stomach and curled his arms around her hips. He didn’t say anything, he just held on as the aftershocks crashed over her.

  She put her hands on his shoulders. Distantly she realized he was still fully dressed. “Rafe?”

  He flicked his tongue into her navel. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t you want…” She tried to focus her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. “Your clothes…”

  “We’ve got all night, princess,” he said.

  “But…”

  “Don’t worry, it won’t be like the first time. I’m a long way from done.” He got to his knees and straddled her legs, then sat back on his heels. “And I’ve got no intention of letting you go until we finish what we started.”

  Finish. She didn’t like that word. She didn’t want to think about endings or afterward or what would happen tomorrow.

  “Besides, I could get used to having you like this.” His voice roughened. “Naked. On my bed.” He placed his palms over her breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”

  So are you, she thought. But she didn’t say it aloud. He wouldn’t understand. She inhaled deeply, lifting herself into his caress. “Rafe…”

  He traced lazy circles with his thumbs, then bent forward and followed his thumbs with his mouth.

  She whimpered. She couldn’t believe the sound, even as she heard herself make it. She couldn’t believe the tremors that were beginning again, either. “Rafe, please.”

  “Tell me what you want

  His question set off a flurry in her heart. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to love her.

  But this was reality. She’d settle for what he was willing to give. She reached up and caught the edges of his shirt. She tugged it over his shoulders and down his arms. Then she opened his zipper and slipped her hand into his pants. “You, Rafe. I want you.”

  He took off his clothes, stretched out beside her and gave her what he thought she wanted. He gave her his body.

  She wrapped him in her arms and did her very best to pretend it was enough.

  Rafe sifted his hand through Glenna’s hair, feeling the curls flow around his fingers like water. She mumbled something and snuggled her head against his chest. Her arm was draped limply across his waist, her leg flung over his thighs. He knew she was tired, but he didn’t want to let her sleep.

  It was only three hours until dawn, and he hadn’t had anywhere near enough of her. That was no surprise. He’d been thinking about making love to Glenna for so long, he’d known he wouldn’t be satisfied with only one time. Or two. Or whatever happened to be the number of empty condom wrappers that were scattered on the floor around the bed.

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Glenna?”

  She sighed. Her hand drifted downward. “Again?”

  He laughed quietly. “Maybe later.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him. In the dim glow from the streetlight, her eyes were heavy lidded, her lips appeared swollen and well kissed. He ran his thumb across the lower one, feeling a rush of male satisfaction. He’d put that look on her face. He’d been the one to hear her cries and make her writhe.

  She swirled the tip of her tongue over his thumb and smiled. “I wasn’t sure you could do that.”

  “Hey, if anyone was keeping score—”

  “No, not that,” she said. “You laughed.”

  “What?”

  “Just now. You hardly ever laugh.”

  “Then we’re even.” He rolled to his back and settled her on top of him. “I never heard you laugh until last week.”

  She folded her hands on his chest and propped her chin on her knuckles. “We haven’t had much time for laughter, have we, Rafe?”

  “Yeah, we kind of skipped some of the preliminaries.”

  She tilted her head. “The preliminaries?”

  “You know, dinner and a movie.”

  “Not unless you count mangoes. You brought me plenty of those.”

  He chuckled again. “That’s something I definitely didn’t want to count.”

  She hesitated. “If we had met under different circumstances, do you think you would have asked me on a date?”

  “Considering that we live more than five hundred miles apart and don’t exactly work in the same field, I doubt if we would have met any other way.”

  “But if we did,” she persisted. “Would you have asked me?”

  He probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere near her, he thought. He would have judged her by her cool and elegant exterior and passed her by, never knowing the warm and passionate woman she was inside. “We can’t rewrite the past, Glenna.”

  “You’re right. We can’t. We can overcome it, though.”

  He couldn’t see her eyes clearly enough to tell whether she was talking about more than their dating history. He suspected she was. He reached for the lamp on the bedside table.

  She squinted at the sudden illumination in the room. Rafe smiled at the picture she made. Her face was bare of makeup and bore a rosy flush. Her hair was a tousled cloud brushing her shoulders. Her hands looked slender and feminine where they rested on his chest.

  He remembered in vivid detail how those delicate fingers had explored every inch of him. He skimmed his hands down to the dip at the small of her back. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Did what?”

  “Overcome the past.” He cupped her buttocks. “We’re good together. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I’ve wanted you.”

  She was silent. Her hands on his chest curled slowly into fists. “Yes,” she said softly. “The sex was good.”

  “Like I said, I could get used to this.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I get thirty days paid vacation every year,” he said, spreading his fingers. “Maybe we could get together sometime.”

  “Get together sometime,” she repeated.

  He could feel tension seep into her body. He realized it wasn’t from arousal. “Glenna, that’s the only promise I can make. I respect you too much to lie. I thought you understood.”

  “Yes, I understand perfectly. You’re glad that I’ve overcome my hang-up about needing to be in love to have sex. You enjoyed our evening together and you hope to have more of the same whenever you happen to be in Manhattan. Is that about right?”

  “You’re making it sound—”

  “Sordid?” she asked. She pushed herself off him. “Ugly?”

  He reached for her, but she pulled away and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. He followed her across the bed and knelt on the mattress in front of her. “No. It wasn’t ugly.” He tipped up her chin to meet his gaze. “What we did here was natural and healthy. It was special.”

  “That’s right, Rafe. It was special.”

  “I’m sorry, Glenna, I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve tried to be honest.”“I know. That’s why I have to be honest with you now.”

  “I felt your honesty, princess. I tasted it.”

  She shook her head. “You didn’t know why I came here tonight. I let you think I had changed my mind about us, but I hadn’t. We didn’t have sex, Rafe. We made love. I love you.”

  It still hurt, the sudden spurt of hope he felt when he
heard those words. He dropped his hand.

  She caught his fingers and hung on. “I want you to hear this. I know I said this before. You were right not to believe me then. Not that I was really wrong, but because I didn’t know you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I do now. And I do love you. Not because you saved my life, not because you’re a skillful lover but because of who you are in here.” She moved their hands over his heart.

  It was the same gesture he had used last week in anger, he realized. Why, then, did it feel so different?

  “We are what we make of ourselves, Rafe. And you’ve made yourself into the kind of man any woman would be proud to stand beside. But you’re not perfect. None of us are. There will always be some ugliness mixed in with the good.”

  “Glenna—”

  “You have to forgive yourself, Rafe. And you have to forgive John.”

  “What?”

  “Forgive him for the envy and resentment that robbed you of your childhood. Let him go. It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I hated him.”

  “No, you didn’t hate your brother. You hated yourself for being human.” She dropped her hand to his thigh. Her palm rubbed over the healing patch of skin where he’d taken a bullet for her. “I believe in you. You’re too good a man to have been guilty of the things you fear. Because if you’re the monster you think you are, then how could I love you?”

  “You don’t.”

  She tightened her grip on his thigh and shifted to her knees. “Think about it, Rafe. If I didn’t love you, then how do you explain what we’ve been doing on this bed for the past six hours?”

  He couldn’t reply. Not because he didn’t have an answer, but because he wasn’t ready to accept it. He’d already known that Glenna wouldn’t give her body lightly. He should have realized she hadn’t changed her mind about needing to be in love to make love. That wasn’t the kind of woman she was.

  “I do love you, Rafe,” she whispered. “And as far as reasons go, it’s the best I can do.” Her breath hitched on a sob. She leaned over quickly, pressing a kiss to the scar on his thigh before she climbed onto his lap and hooked her legs around his hips. “But you can call it whatever you want just as long as we do it again.”

  Chapter 14

  “Stealth and secrecy are our greatest assets. To reduce the risk of security leaks, the Rocaman government will be informed of this mission only on a need-to-know basis. We’ll be using Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico, as our jumping-off point.” Major Redinger tapped the tip of the pointer to the map of the Caribbean that was tacked to the wall. “Once the plane reaches thirty-five thousand feet it will assume a southeasterly course that will intersect the territorial limit of Rocama here,” he said, moving the pointer down and to his right. “At that point, we will exit the plane and deploy our canopies.”

  Rafe felt his pulse move into the familiar slow, steady throb of anticipation. This mission was going to begin with a HAHO, a high-altitude high-opening jump, one of the most effective—and the riskiest—methods of infiltration that Delta used. They would need navigation and night-vision equipment, oxygen systems and special gliding ram-air parachutes that would take them the fifty miles from the drop point to their target. They would arrive in total darkness and complete silence.

  It was a good way to start. With the local authorities out of the loop, there would be no surprises like the reinforcements who had come to the hijackers’ aid at the airport. Leonardo Juarez would never see Delta coming.

  Redinger walked to the table at the front of the room. “We will divide into two groups. Chief Esposito will take five men and land in this area to the east of the loading ramp.” He pointed to a spot on the model where the forest growth was relatively thin. “While group A secures the area and cuts off retreat, the rest of us, group B, will land here, on the roof.”

  There would be twelve men altogether. Twelve against a heavily armed force of at least three dozen. The odds didn’t bother Rafe—they were exceptionally good odds for a Delta Force mission.

  Esposito joined Redinger at the model to continue the briefing. As the enlisted men posed questions and offered suggestions, the plan of attack was gradually fleshed out. Rafe would be in the group that would land on the roof with the major. They’d split up from there, entering the house simultaneously through three strategically chosen windows.

  Rafe focused on the house. Having a scale model of the target was invaluable to the proper coordination of a mission. Occasionally a team would build a life-size mock-up in order to practice the timing of an assault, but that wouldn’t be necessary this time. Sarah and Glenna had done a good job.

  Rafe flicked his gaze to the clock on the wall, confirming the time in his head. The team had switched to night hours to adjust their body rhythms for the mission. It was forty minutes before midnight. Glenna had taken the morning train, so she would have arrived in New York over ten hours ago. She’d said she would be going straight to the office because there would be work to catch up on, phone calls to return, meetings to attend, a life to get back to…

  She should have gone home first. She needed sleep. They’d been up most of the night. She’d been exhausted when he’d driven her to the station. Yet she’d smiled at him anyway. She’d kissed him and wished him luck with the mission and told him to call her whenever he was in Manhattan. She’d pretended that neither of them noticed the tears on her che.

  I love you, Rafe.

  Each time she’d said it, the pain had been worse, as if the words had been ripping away the scar tissue that covered an old wound.

  He didn’t deserve to be loved. He had no right. John was the one who should have heard a woman say those words.

  But she had said them to Rafe. She knew the worst, and she loved him anyway. A woman who was beautiful inside and out claimed that she loved him.

  And like a goddamn fool, he’d let her go. He’d stood on that platform and watched the train pull out and he’d hung on to the last layer of scar tissue as if it were a lifeline.

  “Are you with us, Sergeant Marek?”

  Rafe jerked his attention to the major. “Yes, sir.”

  “As I said, Specialist Gonzales and I will rappel down the wall to the bedroom located here. Sergeants Norton and Lang will enter by the window at the east end of the hall while you and Sergeant O’Toole will take the office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The chief has your equipment lists,” Redinger said as Esposito handed each of the men a typed form. “Get your gear together and assemble at the hangar at O-one-hundred hours for a dry run. In twenty-four hours, we do the real thing.”

  The major dismissed the team. The men left the building and set off through the darkness with a minimum of conversation. Rafe paused outside the entrance, folded his equipment list and put it in his pocket, still trying to get his mind on business. They would be needing flash grenades and close quarters assault rifles for room clearing. He turned toward the firearms storage area when he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

  It was Flynn. He wasn’t smiling. “Rafe, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “Yes, there is. I’ve never seen you drift off in the middle of a briefing. I told you yesterday, you need to be with us one hundred percent. You’ll be covering my back.”

  “I’ll do my job.”

  “Then get on with it. This isn’t funny anymore. I’ve been cutting you slack because of the woman, but—”

  “Her name is Glenna.”

  “She’s trouble.”

  “She’s a courageous and intelligent woman who did her best to cooperate with the team.”

  “Yeah, I can see by those bags under your eyes you two were probably cooperating all last night—hey!”

  Rafe looked down. He had twisted the front of his friend’s uniform in his fists. He exhaled hard and released his grip. He opened his mouth to apologize—as maddening as Flynn could be at times, he was a
loyal friend who was only trying to help—but instead of an apology, he heard himself give a warning. “Don’t talk about Glenna like that again.”

  Flynn scowled. ok, whatever you two have going is your business, but leave it behind.”

  Rafe knew Flynn was right. He rubbed his face. He had to get his head straight. The mission was the priority, not the woman. How many times had he told himself that already? “I will.”

  “You better, or it could cost both our lives.”

  Headlights swept over them as a dark blue sedan pulled up beside the curb. Sarah Fox emerged from the driver’s side and closed the door with a solid thunk. “Sergeant, is there a problem?”

  “No, Captain,” Flynn replied. “No problem at all.”

  “Sergeant Marek?” Sarah asked. “Did I just witness you laying your hands on another soldier?”

  Before Rafe could reply, Flynn gave him a warning poke in the ribs with his elbow and spoke up. “Rafe was straightening my uniform for me, Captain,” Flynn said. “That’s all.”

  She rounded the hood of the car and walked over to them. She looked at Flynn first. “One of these days, you won’t be able to talk your way around a problem, Flynn.”

  “Just trying to solve it before it starts, Sarah,” he responded.

  “Uh-huh. Seems to me as if it’s already started.” She turned to Rafe. Her voice softened. “I’ve never seen you lose your temper, Rafe. Never.”

  She was right, Rafe thought. He didn’t lose his temper. It was usually buried under that conveniently dulling layer of scar tissue. He always focused on the mission. He was a soldier. That was his profession and his life.

  Until Glenna had dared to make him hope for more.

  Glenna. Was she home? Was she already sleeping? Or was she lying awake thinking about him?

  Flynn elbowed him in the ribs less gently this time. “You’re doing it again, Marek,” he muttered.

  Sarah crossed her arms and continued to scrutinize Rafe. “Did you find Glenna yesterday evening?”

  “Yes.”