And that was the second time the thought of kissing her had crossed his mind.
No. Kissing wasn’t on the menu. As intriguing as the idea was, even a sexless brush of his lips across hers seemed forbidden somehow. Like crossing a line he’d never come back from.
Phoebe closed the distance separating them and before he realized her intentions, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. All kinds of sparks ignited in his blood, sizzling his nerve endings, at once freezing him to the spot with a cold kind of dread and blasting him with so much heat, sweat broke out across his brow.
She lingered with the kiss seconds longer than necessary and left the taste of sweetness and spices on his lips, like the chai tea Afghans were so fond of. His heart thundered in his chest and it took a tremendous amount of willpower not to draw her back in for another, deeper kiss.
She released a shaky breath that clouded in the air and rested her hands on his chest. She had to feel the pounding of his heart, but gave no indication.
“Tongue-tied?” she asked.
He stepped away from her. “This can’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m…damaged goods. I’m crazy.”
Her eyes closed as if his words pained her. “No, you’re not. You’re traumatized and you’d realize that if you just opened up and talked to someone. Anyone.”
Now his heart was pounding for an entirely different reason. The thought of talking about his little slice of hell… “I can’t.”
“Someday you’ll need to, and I’m willing to listen when that day comes.”
Willing to listen…
The words shook loose a little nugget of fact he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten: she was a journalist. Of course she was willing to listen. She didn’t want to save him—she wanted a scoop. He couldn’t trust her with any details. He’d made that mistake once before, telling pieces of his story—his team’s story—to reporters, only to see it blown up into something grandiose or ugly or downright unrecognizable.
Never again.
He took another step away from her, his blood running cold. “Willing to listen so you can splash my name all over the headlines? Go on national TV and talk my story to death again? Or are you one of the so-called journalists who likes to dig up dirt?”
All the color drained from her face. “I—”
“Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it?” And here he’d thought she was special in some way. Maybe even someone he could grow to trust.
Disgusted with himself, he left her standing there in the middle of the yard. Trust her? What bullshit. You couldn’t trust anyone but yourself in this fucked world.
And in his case, he didn’t even have that.
Chapter Seventeen
Phoebe stared after him. How did they go from chatting about their vastly different high school experiences to him accusing her of—well, exactly what she had done to him two years ago? But he didn’t know that. He couldn’t have known about the horrible things she’d written about him because she’d gone by Kathryn Anderson back then. Nobody from her new life knew. As far as she was concerned, Kathryn Anderson was dead and buried and never to be resurrected.
Still, she should tell Seth the truth. Judging by his reaction, he was never going to speak to her again—and God, the thought of his impeding anger opened a hollow ache in her belly. But he had to know.
She followed him inside and nearly ran into his back when she pushed open the door. He stood there, shoulders slumped forward, boots rooted to the floor as if he could not move any farther.
“I’m being an asshole again, aren’t I?” He faced her, shame burning in his gaze. “I’m sorry. You make me…feel things I haven’t felt in a long time. That scares the fuck outta me and I’ve had enough shrinks to know I have a tendency to lash out at things that scare me. So, uh…yeah, it was unnecessary. I don’t want to hurt you. I…like you.”
She opened her mouth to tell him he had every right to lash out—except “I like you too, Seth,” emerged instead. Dammit. But she just couldn’t tell him the truth. Not when his admission sent her heart fluttering like a crazy caged bird.
His lips twisted. “I can’t imagine why. I’m not exactly likable.”
On impulse, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. His spine was like a steel rod, immovable, inflexible. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed him in, a masculine scent somewhere between leather and a spice rack. “You’re too hard on yourself, you know that?”
His arms finally closed around her, albeit awkwardly. “I know.”
She sank into the embrace, hoping it would relax him, and for the moment, nothing else mattered. “You’ve already taken more than your fair share of beatings from everyone else. Seems silly to dish it out to yourself, too, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe,” he admitted after a beat and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. His tentativeness broke her heart. Where was the confident, cocky Marine she knew he used to be? Was he still in there somewhere, buried under the scars, battling demons and desperate for freedom?
She thought so and wanted to help him find his way out.
“There’s no maybe about it, Seth.” She lifted her head to smile up at him. “Cut yourself some slack. All I ask.”
His mouth came down on hers, gentle at first, then coaxing. She hadn’t expected it, and surprise filled her belly with butterflies. She opened to him and their tongues mingled, his invasion a pantomime of sex.
Crap, this was a bad idea.
Very bad idea.
No matter what her body wanted—no, demanded. She should put a stop to this because—because sex only caused problems.
His palms skimmed her spine, leaving a heated trail in their wake that sent a flash fire through her nerve endings. He hesitated at the dip at the small of her back as if debating the wisdom of continuing the southward path.
Oh hell. Why not? He needed a release as much as she did, they were obviously both attracted, and they were both adults. She’d never indulged in a fling before, but the need sparked by a simple slide of his hands convinced her that a fling was an awesome idea.
She rubbed against him, flattening her breasts to his chest, and the sound she made as he broke the kiss must have convinced him to keep going because he dipped his head again and backed her into the wall. His erection thrust into her lower belly and he gripped her rear, lifting her until she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist.
“Whoa.” At the other end of the hall, Quinn about-faced so fast on his toes, he put ballerinas to shame.
Seth lifted his head, a classic deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face, his hands still gripping her bottom. He fumbled to set her down and cursed when his zipper, pushed out by a very obvious erection, caught on the hem of her sweater.
“Sorry. Carry on.” Quinn waved a hand over his shoulder. “Glad to see you’re okay.”
“Yeah,” Seth said, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m, uh, okay.”
“Obviously,” Quinn muttered and all but spirited back to the dining room.
Phoebe laughed and buried her face in Seth’s chest. “He acts like he caught us naked.”
Although if she were honest with herself, another five minutes and Quinn might have gotten an eyeful.
She backed away and glanced down at the zipper, still tangled in the weave of her sweater. Letting go of him, she ducked her head and tugged the sweater off, leaving her in only a tank top and the bandage around her arm. She straightened and burst out laughing. He looked ridiculous standing there with a sweater hanging from the front of his pants.
He scowled. “Not funny.”
“Actually…yes, it is.” She smothered another giggle behind her hand, but then let it loose when a muscle ticked in his cheek. He was holding back a smile and she wanted to see it, wanted him to realize he didn’t have to hide his laughter from her.
“How am I supposed to go in there and face the team like t
his?” he asked. “You think they gave me a hard time before?”
“Oh, chill out.” She knelt down and worked the sweater free. When she held it up triumphantly, she realized he was staring up at the ceiling.
“What?”
“Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry about…”
“What? Your erection?”
Color crept up his neck to his face. “Yeah.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s a normal reaction when a guy kisses someone he’s attracted to.”
“Not for me. Not anymore.”
This time, when he walked away from her, she didn’t bother chasing him. She sighed and pulled her sweater on.
What would it take to get through to him?
…
Quinn had a headache.
Thank fuck the shelter had only been able to spare a few lamps for their makeshift war room or else the headache might have graduated from ouch-ouch-ouch to put-a-bullet-in-his-skull-just-to-make-it-stop. As it was right now, he could manage.
He glanced away from the spread of satellite images on the table in front of him because he was starting to see double—a sure sign of an impending migraine. He spotted the handful of photos Phoebe had provided of the village, which reminded him of what he’d caught Phoebe and Seth doing against the wall by the shelter’s classroom. Which, in turn, made him think about why Seth and Phoebe had been in that hallway to begin with.
That scene at dinner had been a fucking disaster.
Hell, maybe it had been a mistake bringing Seth onto the team. Gabe seemed to think so, and after tonight, there was no denying the guy’s head was fucked.
But going by that logic, Quinn shouldn’t be on the team either because nobody’s head was more fucked up than his. Of course, Gabe didn’t know about the blackouts he’d suffered since waking from the coma after their car accident a year and a half ago. Nobody knew—except for Jesse, who had gotten a hold of his medical records back in July and had urged him to tell Gabe about the traumatic brain injury.
And he had planned on it. Hell, he’d even opened his trap to spill it on more than one occasion, but every time, the words stuck in his throat. He’d lost his SEAL team, the closest thing he’d ever had to a family. Now he had HORNET and, as much as they sometimes irritated him, he dreaded the thought of losing that ragtag bunch. What would he have then if he didn’t have them?
Nothing.
No purpose. No family.
Besides, the only ops the team had gone on since May were training missions. And occasional bodyguard jobs, like this summer when they babysat Senator Escareno’s family in El Paso—
Mara.
No. Jesus Christ, no. Why did that woman keep popping into his head?
Shoving away from the table, he paced across the cramped room and forced away the memories of Senator Escareno’s gorgeous daughter. His focus had to stay 100 percent on this mission.
His last mission.
He stopped moving at the thought and scrubbed his hands over his face. It pained him that he’d never be out in the field again, but…yeah. It was the right thing to do. He couldn’t keep putting his men—his friends—in danger. So when the team returned to the States, he’d have to come clean about his medical issues. And then…
Well. Honestly, he hadn’t considered the “and then” part of it.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs in the foyer, dragging him away from his depressing thoughts, and he dropped his hands. He couldn’t see any of the girls sneaking out in the middle of the night—they were all too frightened by one thing or another to leave the shelter—so it had to be one of the guys.
Seth appeared at the bottom of the stairs as a long, lean shadow. He had the hood of his sweatshirt up, and his head turned left, then right, eyes scanning, searching for threats. His entire body was as taut as a guitar string, vibrating with nervous energy.
Damn. He did not look like he was holding it together.
After an uncertain moment, he finally moved and stepped into the foyer and Quinn couldn’t help but draw a mental comparison between the sniper and a deer he’d once seen on a hunting trip with his adopted father when he was fourteen. The buck had sensed their presence on that icy winter morning, but couldn’t see them up in the tree blind. It had crunched through the snow one graceful, careful step at a time, freezing every other step, ears pricked, dark eyes scanning.
Seth moved with the same vigilant grace as that deer. As if he’d bolt at the faintest whisper of movement, just like the buck had when Quinn scooted forward in the blind to get a better look.
Christ, Quinn hoped he was making the right call about this guy.
He raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Harlan.”
Seth froze and for a long five seconds, Quinn thought he might make a run for it like the deer had. Then he drew a breath that moved his shoulders and turned toward the war room.
“You okay?” Quinn asked.
Seth swallowed hard and nodded. “Nightmares,” he said, voice hoarse. “They’ve, uh, gotten worse since coming back here.”
Quinn picked up several of the photos and flipped through them. It was useless. He wasn’t going to match them up to the sat images, no matter how long he stared at them. He tossed them down again and said without thinking, “Man, the way they had you tied up, letting you just rot away…you’re entitled to a few nightmares.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Seth go very still. “You were there?”
Fuck. Realizing the mistake, Quinn faced the guy. He knew Seth didn’t remember him and he sure as hell hadn’t meant to bring it up, but the cat was out of the bag now. “Yes. I was part of the mission.”
“You’re one of the SEALs that pulled me out of—of—” Seth’s throat worked. “Is that why you keep going to bat for me with Gabe? Because you were fucking there?”
“Yeah. Partly.” He’d never forget walking into that mud house, the scent of death like a smack in the face despite the brutal midwinter cold, and finding Seth Harlan chained to the wall in a back room, rotting away in his own filth. Seth’s gaunt face had been a swollen, unrecognizable jumble of black, blue, and yellow splotches and someone had very recently sliced open his throat. At the time, the future hadn’t looked promising for the young Marine. While the cold had kept him from bleeding out, he was hypothermic and septic, suffering from dehydration, and on the verge of starvation, and had infected wounds all over his chest, back, legs, and groin. In fact, Quinn hadn’t thought he would survive the trip back to a friendly hospital, not to mention make a full recovery and try to find work in the private sector.
Seth had spirit. It might be broken like his shrinks all claimed, but he had it in spades, and that was rare. Plus, broken could usually be fixed.
And yeah, that hope was exactly why Quinn kept pushing to keep Seth on the team. He kept thinking of himself, how the Navy had tossed him to the curb for something beyond his control, how if it weren’t for HORNET, he’d be lost right now. He’d gotten his second chance. How could he not offer the same to Seth?
Seth stared at some point on the far wall, his jaw locked tight enough to make a muscle twitch at his temple. No doubt he was reliving the rescue from his end, trying to visualize which of the faceless, white-clad rescuers had been Quinn.
Finally, he exhaled hard and refocused in the here and now. “I should probably say thank you for getting me out of there.”
“I’m not looking for thanks.”
“Good.” He nodded once. “That’s good. ’Cause I can’t give it. I just…can’t.”
“Don’t blame you.” Quinn waited, giving him some time and space to pull himself together.
When Seth appeared steady again, Quinn picked up the photographs and held them out. “Do you recognize any landmarks in these photos?” It was worth a shot. The man had been dragged all over the mountains for fifteen months.
Seth accepted the stack, flipped through it, then shook his head and handed it back with a trembling hand.
God. A s
niper with unsteady hands.
Quinn hesitated before putting the photos away. “Seth, man. Tell me truthfully, are you ready for this? There’s no shame in it if you’re not, but I need to know now. I need to know I can put a rifle in your hands and send you into the mountains without worrying about Gabe’s safety, or yours, or the rest of the team’s. I need to know right now you can handle this.”
Seth stared down at his hands for a long time. So long, that Quinn figured it was game over and the sniper would be States-bound by morning.
Finally, his hands curled into fists. When he looked up, Quinn saw exactly what he’d hoped to see. Fire. Determination. Spirit.
“I can handle it,” Seth said. “I’m going to bring Hendricks home, no matter what.”
And Quinn believed him.
Chapter Eighteen
As their two-vehicle convoy bounced through the desert, Phoebe peeked over at Seth in the seat next to her, using her head scarf to hide the action although it wasn’t necessary. His gaze remained glued to the window, his hands fisted on his knees. He’d been silent since they left the shelter before daybreak this morning and she couldn’t help but worry about him. What must be going through his head? Was he remembering the last time he made this drive through the desert toward the mountains?
After three hours, the silence was getting to be too much. She needed conversation, but Seth obviously wasn’t in the mood to chitchat. That left her with only one other option.
She leaned forward in her seat. “Gabe?”
He cast his eyes toward the rearview mirror and briefly met her gaze in the glass. “Yeah?”
“I saw you give Quinn something before we left the shelter. What was it? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t,” he answered, surprising her. She’d expected the imposing man to shut her down for prying. “It was a note for my wife and one for my brother. It’s a thing we do. In case.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Seth’s flinch. He’d probably delivered a note like that, hadn’t he? Most likely one for each of the five teammates he’d lost. God, she couldn’t even imagine carrying that kind of burden.
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