“I’ll admit that I’ve always been bugfuck crazy when it comes to women, LZ. But in all the time you’ve known me, with all the women you’ve seen me go through, have I ever once said I was in love with one of them?”
“Sienna.” LZ gave Kyle a pained look when he spoke the dreaded name.
“Did I say it, though? Or did you assume?”
“I think it was implied pretty heavily.” Eric’s eyebrows rose. “Were you in love with her?”
Shit. Fair question. Kyle dragged a hand over his shorn hair. Max had asked him much the same thing over fried chicken in her tent. Are you still in love with her?
I used to think so, he’d answered. But now… Well, now he had his feelings for Max to compare to the ones he’d felt for Sienna. And it was no contest. “I thought I was,” he repeated to Eric. “But now I know the difference.”
Eric exhaled shortly. “Are you listening to yourself, Kyle? Tomorrow or the next day you’ll realize your feelings for this reporter woman weren’t the real thing, either. I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, but I don’t see how this situation is any different from Sienna.”
“Because it is!” Kyle shouted, then shut his teeth. Dammit. Nice way to convince his buddy he wasn’t crazy, by throwing a tantrum. “I’m sorry,” he said through a hard jaw. “I’m jetlagged and impatient right now.”
“I don’t mean to be an asshole,” Eric said evenly, then paused. “How long have you known this woman?”
“I don’t know…about a week.” Kyle dropped his face into one hand, digging his fingers into his temples. How to make that not sound insane? He couldn’t…and you know what? Why was he even trying to justify his actions? He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone but himself. And guess what? The Universe wasn’t pissing and moaning in his ear, and if that wasn’t his gut telling him Max was the absolute right choice for him, he didn’t know what was.
Calm assurance clicked back into place, and as Kyle lifted his head, he knew his expression showed it. “You’re not being an asshole, LZ. You’re looking out for me, like you’ve always done, and I appreciate it. I needed it before.” Like the fuckup little brother of the family. “But I don’t need it this time. Maybe never again.”
Nicole was eying Kyle with shrewd assessment. Of all the unlikely people, his former bantering partner seemed to get him. Nicole slipped a hand around her boyfriend’s arm. “Don’t worry, Kyle, Eric will get on board with this new woman. He just needs to meet her.”
True enough. Two minutes of conversation with Max, and LZ would be sold. “Yeah, well, I’d love for you to meet her. But I can’t fucking find her!”
“No? I’ll find her for you.” Nicole tugged her cell phone out of the back pocket of her jeans shorts. “What’s her name?”
Kyle stared at Nicole.
“I’m in law enforcement, remember?” She bobbed her eyebrows and grinned immodestly. “I have access to all kinds of cool databases.”
For the first time in a long time, the congested feeling in Kyle’s chest completely cleared. “Her name is Samantha Dougin,” he breathed out, “and I’m so having your babies, Gamboa.”
Nicole started typing on her phone. “Don’t you still owe me babies for the Vicodin I gave you in Colombia?”
Kyle glanced at LZ. “You ratted me out to Nicole about that?”
Eric’s disgruntled expression faded. He even gave Kyle a genuine smile as he shrugged unrepentantly.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The air was redolent with the briny scents of the sea in this lovely San Diego coastal community called Pacific Beach, the quaint streets lined with unique cafés, small pubs, tourist shops, and boutique clothing stores specializing in coastal wear. The town had an interesting vibe to it, kind of a combination of laid-back beach bum mixed with a youthful movers-and-shakers feel. Max could see why a young bachelor would want to live here.
Turning her car onto Kyle’s street, Max parked, threw on her mini backpack, and then, with a ball of excitement and nerves mixing in her belly, strode up the walkway to his house. She had Tarzan to thank—which she’d done profusely—for Kyle’s address.
As soon as Max returned home from Pakistan, she’d taken time off work to focus all her energy on finding out anything she could about Kyle, first making inquiries about him and Tarzan at every helicopter squadron on the North Island Naval base in San Diego. She finally located Tarzan at HSM-41, the training squadron for Seahawk helicopters, where he was temporarily assigned while he recovered from his broken ankle. She’d wanted to crawl through the cyber phone line and kiss Tarzan when he told her Kyle was alive and recovering in an Army hospital in Germany.
Hearing that, her hurricane-ruined, house-on-stilts guts finally began to reconstruct.
And when Tarzan contacted her this morning to tell her Kyle was flying home today, she’d offered the AW her firstborn child in gratitude.
Tarzan had laughingly said he’d settle for a drink.
Wholeheartedly agreeing to those terms, Max had immediately hopped in her car and set out from Lake Arrowhead to San Diego. Maybe she should’ve given Kyle a day to rest and recoup after an international flight, but the last eleven days had been unrelenting torture. Call her overly extravagant, but she, oh, sort of needed to confirm for herself he was alive and well. Besides, she missed the devil out of him.
She picked up the knocker on Kyle’s door and tapped it a couple of times.
A 60s-style VW Bus buzzed by on the road behind her.
After several moments, the door swung open, revealing a tall man, impatient-looking, with his eyebrows scrunched together.
For a split-second she didn’t recognize him, he was so clean-cut now, but it was… “Kyle,” she gasped.
Happy surprise replaced annoyance on his face. “Holy shit.” He surged forward and grabbed her into a hug, swinging her off her feet and into his arms. “Max!”
“Oh, my God!” She made a soggy sound of joy and clasped him around the neck. “Are you all right? Are you…? Are you…?” What did she want to ask him? A million, trillion things. She held him tighter. “Are you all right?”
“I am now you’re here.” He set her down and framed her cheeks between his palms. “Are you all right?” he asked back, searching her face.
“Yes.”
“Do you mean it? You’re not playing anything down, like when you jammed your wrist after the ambulance crash?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned her face. “I heard you were on sick leave.”
He’d heard? So he’d been trying to track her down, too? Well, that was…wonderful. “I’m fine. My back was sore for a while, but otherwise I was extremely lucky. Although, um, if you and I go to Disney World on vacation, I think I’ll pass on taking one of those helicopter rides around Orlando.”
Kyle’s expression clouded. He pulled her into an embrace again. “I’m sorry,” he said against her hair. “That crash must’ve been terrifying for you.”
She slipped her arms around his waist. “Nothing to be sorry for, Kyle. You didn’t do anything. Terrorists did. I feel quite certain if there’d been any way to avoid being shot down, you’d have done it.”
He snorted raggedly. “There you go again, being all kinds of positive about me.” He peered down on her. “Do you have any idea how addicting it is?”
She smiled up at him, smarting tears of relief leaping into her eyes. “It’s so good to see you.” She stroked a palm over his smooth cheek. “Although you don’t look like you anymore.” He was so Navy guy now.
He smiled, the grin pressing his scar against her palm. “The saying sight for sore eyes—that’s what you look like.”
She kept on touching his face, murmuring, “Who knew you had such a chiseled jaw?”
His laugh was a pleased rumble. “I’m sure my stoner neighbor across the street would love to see where all this touching and hugging is going, but…” He tugged her into a small foyer, shut the door, and kissed her.
The feel of his lips on hers immediately se
t her heart to skittering like hail on a skylight. Looping her arms around his neck again, she threw all of herself into kissing him back, crushing her lips to his like he was an indispensable life source she never wanted to do without. Which he was. And she really didn’t. His mouth was everything she’d missed about him; masculine-feeling to represent his cocky, seductive side, and soft to reflect those vulnerabilities he’d only shared with her. I seem to be making a nasty habit of killing people on deployments. The thought of having another sick kid scares me cross-eyed. Her precious treasures.
Kyle stopped the kiss on a panted exhale, but remained hovering just above her. “I missed you,” he whispered.
“I missed you too.” She stepped back, placing a finger to her lips. He tasted funny.
He must’ve read her thoughts. “When I took in that big breath underwater, I sucked jet fuel into my lungs along with a lot of Mangla Dam. Trust me, I used to smell and taste much worse.”
She dropped her hand to her throat. He’d been through so much because he almost died in that accident. Correction. He had died. A shudder rattled Max as her mind conducted a textbook PTSD flashback to the crash. She was suddenly reliving seeing Kyle’s blue and bloated face.
“Hey, I’m okay now.” He eyed her carefully, as if preparing to catch her if she fainted. “Full recovery, no worries.”
“So…uh, no other lingering issues?” she asked around a clogged sensation in her throat. It seemed impossible he wouldn’t be suffering more aftereffects.
“I had a few blown capillaries in one of my eyes for a while, but mostly my lungs were in bad shape. I was lucky.” He glanced down. “Luckier than Jobs.”
She swallowed so hard it hurt. “Yes, I keep thinking about how young Steve was. It was…his death is a terrible loss.”
A tic pulled at Kyle’s cheek. “It’s been a, you know, a hard thing for me to get past.” He cleared his throat. “Come inside.” He slipped her backpack off, and led her from the small foyer into a living room that was a total guy space, complete with a Naugahyde couch and two chairs of the same brown color—one a recliner—a chunky glass coffee table, a monstrous stereo system, and a mammoth flat screen television.
The carpet was shag in multicolored brown shades—like beige, tan, and coffee all twisted together. Luckily, there were two huge windows letting in a lot of sunlight, or the place would’ve come off as dreary rather than earthy. A shelf under the TV was stacked with CDs and Blu-rays, and on the walls was a helter-skelter collection of framed photographs instead of paintings or posters, candid shots showing Kyle in all aspects of his life: in a flight suit with other Navy buddies, in a white military uniform, getting something pinned on his chest, out with friends at parties or on vacation, snow skiing and hiking.
She spotted a suitcase by his living room couch, and made a face at him. “I probably should’ve delayed coming. You must be exhausted after your long flight. But I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“I would’ve just ended up on your doorstep then. That”—he pointed at the suitcase as he set her backpack next to it—“is packed to go. I was about to head out to find you.”
“You were?” She smiled. “Really?”
“A friend of mine was able to dig up your parents’ Lake Arrowhead address.”
“How…? Oh, no! We almost ended up like two ships passing in the night.”
“That would’ve sucked. Especially since I have something very important to give you.”
She peaked her brows curiously as he swung his suitcase onto the couch and snapped it open. What could he have of hers?
“I made two stops on the way home,” he said. “One at Verizon to buy a new cell phone.” He shoved his hand into the top inside pocket of his suitcase. “The other at a jewelry store. For this.” He pulled out a ring box and held it out to her.
Whaaaaat? Her jaw dropped down and hung there. She felt her eyes growing enormous.
Kyle’s mouth lifted in a crooked smile, although the look in his gaze remained serious. “I know we haven’t known each other for long, Max, but you’re the one for me. The absolute one. I don’t have the slightest doubt in my mind. I’m crazy in love with you.” His nostrils flared slightly. “Beyond my ability to believe how much in love with you.”
She forgot about breathing. Chillbumps cascaded down her arms.
He gave her the ring box.
She took it with one hand, the other pressed to her chest again. Her heart was beating like a jazz musician gone wild on a snare drum. She should probably sit down.
“Open it.”
She lifted the lid of the dark velvet box, and lost her breath again. Mounted on a gold band was a setting of a single round diamond surrounded by tiny round sapphires. It was… ridiculously stunning.
“I wanted there to be blue stones, for…you know, to represent water.” He reached out and traced his fingers along a couple of strands of her bangs. “Because you’re my amazing swimmer girl.” His voice thickened with emotion. “You saved my life, Max.”
Tears clouded her vision.
“Tarzan told me how you hauled me up from the crash and gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
Of course I did. How could I not? I’m crazy about you too. The words didn’t come out. She was too overwhelmed. She actually had someone in her life to show her this much love…
“Your eyelashes are moving so much they’re, like, twerking,” he said. “And in this case, I can’t tell if that’s good or bad.” He stared down at her intently, as if searching her for answers. “Honey, if you need a long engagement to be sure about me, I don’t mind. Just say yes. Okay? Please say yes.”
She finally got her vocal chords to produce sound. “K-Kyle.” Okay, barely. “Yes…a million times yes…yes, yes, yes!”
His face split into a wide grin.
“And how does next month sound for a wedding?” she said.
He tossed his head back and laughed. “Sounds absolutely perfect. Oh, wait…hell! I forgot to get down on my knee.” He reclaimed the box from her, pulled out the engagement ring, then dropped down onto one knee. Taking her left hand in his, he gently pushed the ring on her finger. “I promise to love you faithfully forever, Samantha Dougin, and with all my heart.” He gazed up at her, his smiling eyes clinging to hers.
More tears fell. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Kyle Hammond.” What would she ever have done if he’d died? The thought sent another PTSD flashback rolling through her mind, this time the images highlighting the eternal stretch of time she’d had to endure without knowing if he was alive or dead, left to wonder if she would ever have to open his—“Oh! I have something for you, too.”
She crossed to her backpack as he pushed to his feet. Pulling out the envelope she’d shamefully crushed in her hand, she went back over to him. “It’s your letter.” She held it out to him. “Your…final letter.”
He stared down at it for a long moment, then slowly raised his eyes to her. “You didn’t open it,” he commented quietly.
“No.” She swallowed hard. “And thank God.”
“I thought you might sneak a peek.”
“And risk bad juju?” She shook her head. “No way.”
He finally reached out and took the envelope. “This was hard to write, but…” He met her eyes again, a look of such intense love filling his gaze that she blushed. “It was pretty damned nice to have someone in my life I wanted to leave it to.”
Oh, boy. Someone could cook a fried egg on her face now. Wow. Just wow.
Chuckling, he bent to give her a swift, soft kiss. “You’re cute.”
“I’m also curious. I mean…now that you’re officially okay and all…” She made a grab for the letter.
“Ho, no.” He whooshed it out of her reach. “There’s some seriously mushy stuff in here. I’ve got my rep to consider.”
She tilted her head to one side. “How mushy?”
Smiling, he folded the letter in half and jammed it into his back pocket
. “How about I put some of it in my wedding vows?”
“I’ll probably faint dead away on the altar from all the breathtaking things you say.”
He beamed at her and chuckled again. “I’ll give you a lifetime to quit saying positive stuff like that.”
“Oh, you have no idea what a fantastic wife I’m going to make you. Come—” She grabbed his hand. “Let me give you a preview.” She led him toward a hall she’d spotted off the kitchen. A bedroom had to be back there somewhere. Better be. She was raring to reignite the connection they’d worked so hard to achieve in Pakistan.
“I’ve already tasted your fried chicken,” he said when they came to the kitchen. “Frankly, if it wasn’t for that, you might not have made the cut.”
She glanced back at him.
Smile lines fanned out from his eyes in the Kyle-grin that always unraveled her.
She found his bedroom and led him to his unmade bed.
“Oops, sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”
His house wasn’t too bad, actually. It appeared lived-in and a little untidy, but not a dirty shambles…certainly nothing like the disasters most bachelor pads were.
She urged him to sit down on the edge of his mattress, then lowered herself into a crouch in front of him, scooting between his splayed thighs. “Do you know what helped you make the cut?” She set her hands on his belt, then slipped her palms over his hipbones and down to the front of his crotch. She slanted a look at him through her lashes.
He smirked. “So, you like that part of me now, do you?”
“Do you want to see how much?”
His eyes gleaming, he nodded.
“Take off your shirt,” she instructed him softly. “I want to see your body.”
He laughed low in his throat. She was copying the scene they’d played in her tent the day of the cell phone exchange—or almost played.
“Gladly,” he said, and yanked off his shirt.
Her breath grew tight. His skin was blotchy with yellow spots—dye marker stains that had faded over the last week, same as hers. She reached out her fingers and traced one.
Wings of Gold Series Page 48