by Karen Anders
* * *
Tristan stood up in front of the new class of scout snipers who had just arrived and were settling in. They had a week before the class would officially start, and Tristan was taking some leave to recover from the harrowing two days in the mountains.
His imposed exile from Force Recon would be over in six weeks. He reached into his pocket and felt the paper that Amber had tucked in there. He pulled it out and saw it was her pancake recipe.
Suddenly, with that goal so close, Tristan found that it had somehow lost its importance. He caught himself thinking about Rock’s offer, urging him to get out and work with him in something that he knew Tristan would love. Going into business with Rock would be amazing, and he acknowledged to himself, finally, that Rock was his best friend. He’d given the man enough crap over the time they’d known each other, but like the moniker he carried, he’d been a rock.
Tristan had thought his decision was clear. Another tour with Force Recon. But as the day wore on, his thinking began to change. He had options. He could stay here at MWTC. Colonel Jacobs had already voiced his decision that he wanted Tristan permanently.
He could retire early and go into business with Rock.
Or he could get back into combat.
Hide in combat.
Not as important as it once was to him. Before James died...before Amber.
There was something to be said for getting close to her. And he had. He’d got as close to a woman as a man could. He was in love with her. Deeply in love.
Something he’d never experienced. In the past, he’d found no-strings women to take care of his physical needs. Ever since Banyan. Had always been that way, and for the first time he questioned why that was. Why he had been treating women this way and never letting them get close to him.
Now he was connecting more to that Banyan incident. Remembering and accepting what Doc Cross had tried to bring out through their sessions when Tristan had stubbornly insisted that Banyan had nothing to do with why he was a loner. That perhaps experiencing that anguish had made him gun-shy of any relationship. All he’d known was the corps, since he was eighteen. They had made a man out of him, and there was always a price to pay. That cost had been high, and he had closed himself down to do the job he’d been trained to do, pushed his unresolved feelings of guilt deep inside and closed it off so he could perform the duty he’d sworn to perform.
Semper Fidelis.
Semper Fi.
Maybe that had led him to believe that not dealing with it would make it go away, quietly. But now he knew that it had only sent him into special-ops training that would allow him to be part of a team but completely on his own.
Then it rocked him. The realization that made him pause and suck in a breath. All his choices had stemmed from that incident and shaped him into the man he’d become. Some for good, some not so good.
All relationships had suffered, not only with the opposite sex, but with his family, with his personal relationships. Every single one. He’d unconsciously isolated himself from the possibility of adding to the guilt that stemmed from his actions at the consulate. People he’d cared about had died because he had to carry out his duty. Now this was being dredged up because of James and how close he’d got to the boy without really meaning to. How much closer he wanted to get to Amber.
Everything about her enticed him. Her strength of character was in tune with his own. She cared about people, about this case and its outcome. If she was a good person—and she was—he would have to acknowledge that, and then these other feelings for her would have to be examined.
Damn, the lengths he’d gone to protect himself were just becoming clear to him, and it shook him and his foundations down to the core.
The bottom line was that Amber had made him feel again, made him examine all the excuses he’d put forth about his own hang-ups. And now she was gone and his life felt emptier than it had before.
He closed his eyes and stood there for a moment, just absorbing the ramifications of everything she was to him. He couldn’t let her go. He’d be a fool to let her slip out of his life.
He picked up the phone and the call connected.
“Dr. David Cross.”
“Doc, it’s Tristan Michaels.” Then he started talking.
* * *
One more endless, sunny, beautiful day in freaking gorgeous Aruba.
Why did she wish she was back in the frigid Sierra Nevada? In a cozy cave making love to a man who was a marvel in not only the field of battle but also in bed. She’d brave the cold for Tristan. From the swim-up bar, located in the pool, she swiveled around on the underwater stool and let her eyes wander over all the happy, smiling people. She scowled. Maybe she should book that windjammer cruise and go swim with the freaking dolphins. Oh, man, she really needed to go soak her head.
Okay, she acknowledged, it hurt! Okay! It hurt way worse than her sham of a long-term relationship with Pete. After Tristan had told him off, he hadn’t called again. She was glad, because she missed Tristan. Losing him hurt more than anything had ever hurt in her life. She sipped a mai tai, but even the sight of the colorful little umbrella couldn’t lift her spirits.
What did that say about her judgment?
Nothing good, she knew that much, but that wasn’t the worst. The worst was the pining. She longed for Tristan, for his touch, for the sound of his voice, in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible. It was unbearably needy of her to want a practical stranger so much, all the time. She wanted to kiss him, breathe him in, be with him, and in her own twisted way, she managed it as best she could—and it had killed her to walk away.
Life, love and heartache had derailed her on a case that was supposed to take her no time at all. Emotionally she was a mess.
And she could lay that right at the feet of Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels, her master defender. She had only just begun to poke and prod at her pain. She needed another mai tai. She signaled the bartender and he set another one on the bar. A very hunky, almost naked—well, except for his blue-and-yellow swim trunks—gorgeous hottie gave her a hopeful smile. She barely acknowledged him. She switched out the glasses and went back to her wallowing.
He’d walked into her life a total stranger, and a week later, he’d walked back out entrenched deep in her heart. That alone should be enough to fuel some serious soul-searching, but the rest of it was even worse. She hadn’t just fallen in bed with the man—she’d fallen in love.
But he’d been crystal clear. He belonged to the corps and there was no room in his life for a relationship. He didn’t want that. She closed her eyes, unable to handle coming in second again, even though he’d been adamant that she hadn’t. It felt too much as though he hadn’t been willing to sacrifice for her, put her first.
Who was she kidding? He was one of those silent warriors, and stealth was his middle name. It was God, country, and then everything else came after that in varying degrees.
She sipped the mai tai and looked around again, deciding that she was sufficiently waterlogged. A dark head of flattop hair caught her attention, but it disappeared behind a large umbrella.
She’d been doing that all day. Every time she saw a military cut. “Oh, hell,” she muttered under her breath. Here she was, thinking about him, and now she thought she saw him. This was a habit she had to break. Every thought she had turned to him, and she didn’t have a clue as to where he was or what he was doing or what had happened to make him decide they couldn’t be together.
That dark hair caught her attention again. It was thick and black for a flattop. Her heart caught, and then she saw those broad shoulders encased in white camo and combat boots. It had to be 90 degrees out and Tristan stood before her as if he’d morphed from the base of the Sierra Nevada to the sunny, sandy, beautiful beach in Aruba.
She’d been taking a sip and it went down th
e wrong way. She coughed and his eyes found her. Without missing a step, he walked right into the pool, combat boots and all, and waded to her.
Dazed and devoid of a coherent thought in her head, she coughed hard and he patted her back. Her knees wobbled and his arm slipped around her waist as he took the mai tai and downed the drink in one swallow, then set it on the bar.
“Wait... I need that.”
He took the little umbrella out and tucked it behind her ear. “Later,” he said.
Her heart pounding and her pulse thundering in her ears, she rested her head weakly on his wide, beautiful, solid, lovely chest.
She felt as if she suddenly had too much blood in her body. Too much heat. Too heavy a response. Closing her eyes, she slipped her hands against his chest, closing over the material of his shirt, trying to bring her body under control. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not all these primitive feelings, not this fever of need. She had always considered herself fairly low-key sexually, never given to excesses. But she had excesses now—hot, pumping excesses that made her whole body throb.
God, everything had got so short-circuited. This had started out as a simple case of friendly fire and had turned into a rescue mission—Tristan rescuing her. But all of a sudden it had gone way beyond that. Never had she wanted anything the way she wanted to rescue Tristan.
“You need to breathe, Amber, before you pass out.”
She raised her head and she saw that his eyes were clear, confident and full of sass. That made her straighten. She pushed him and he went down on his ass in the water. People were already staring and some of them made a soft hissing sound at her pushing a service member down. A big man. She glared at them until they all turned away. “You deserved that.”
He sat in the water, soaked and grinning up at her. “Yeah, a delicate woman in a string bikini knows how to knock me on my ass and there is no physical assault required, sweetheart. Ooh-rah.”
“Don’t call me ‘sweetheart.’ I’m more like 51 percent bitch today.”
He bit his bottom lip as though he was holding back his need to laugh.
Her eyes narrowed and he smoothed his face out, his eyes still so full of joy as he stared at her.
She acknowledged that with her 49 percent sweetheart. “You’re losing percentage points, marine.”
He held up both hands, water cascading from his sleeves. Unbuttoning his uniform shirt, he pulled it off and tossed it to the side of the pool, which left him in the T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest, outlining hard muscles that she remembered so well, hot and heavy beneath her hands. She stared at him a moment longer, then stepped forward, water sloshing. She set her hands on her hips, intently assessing him. Her tone was blunt. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
He set a bland expression, his tone pacifying. “I wouldn’t laugh at you, Amber.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. Then the corner of her mouth lifted just a little. “The hell you wouldn’t.”
He tilted his head, looking way too boyish, way too cute, even with that healing cut on his face. And all the love she felt for him rushed into her chest and clogged her throat.
She took an exasperated breath, and then she felt the tears burn her eyes. The laughter disappeared from his face and he scrambled up from the water and rushed to her, dragging her against him.
“What took you so long, Tris?”
“I had to get my head screwed on right. I’m a complete idiot and you should kick my ass all up and down this gorgeous beach.”
“I just might do that.”
“I’ll let you.”
She sputtered, “You won’t have to let me.”
“Okay.”
“I assume you’re here for a reason.”
He gave her that boyish look again, his midnight-blue eyes going serious. The cut on his face was healing, now a thin line, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe again.
“Since the consulate tragedy, I’ve worked hard to make myself emotionally bulletproof.” His voice caught. “I never got involved with people. Not like before I’d had to handle the guilt and the responsibility of doing my duty with people dying as a result.
“I hadn’t wanted to like James. See that James wanted and openly competed for my approval and attention. I hadn’t wanted to see the young man in the uniform so open and gung ho, so downright optimistic. Mostly because it reminded me of myself. Before I lost my innocence in a blood-soaked day that had transformed me from a boy into a man.
“Those NCIS agents stripped me of my identity that day—how I defined myself—and I’ve been spending every day since closing myself off. I didn’t realize I was doing it. Not until you came into my life and rescued me. Showed me what living was about. I’m so thankful for you, Amber.”
Now the tears fell, trailed down her cheeks, and he cupped her face and kissed her. Moved his mouth over her, and she didn’t think she would ever get enough of this wonderful man. He broke the kiss and met her eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out.
“I love you, Amber. With everything I have.”
Her voice caught on a soft sob. “Tristan, oh, God.” She threw herself against his chest, her heart too full.
“I want you to know that you’re first in my life, first in my heart. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel second-best.”
“That’s my issue, Tris. I understand everything you’ve been through and I was willing to let you go, because I understood that your need for the corps was so strong.”
“But it was skewed. Wacked. I was afraid of the pain that came with opening myself to people. Finding it easier to keep closed and relationships at arm’s length.”
“But you’re not anymore.”
“No. I’ll even overlook the fact that you’re an NCIS agent.” He leaned in and whispered roughly in her ear. “I’m so gone. For you, Amber.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank against him and was soon quite aware that he loved her with every part of his body. He had quite a wonderful hard-on as he pressed himself against her.
“You want to get some of this?” he whispered, hot and raspy against her ear.
“Yes,” she murmured breathlessly back, not able to contain how much she wanted this man’s body.
“I assume you have a room because I...ah...just got here.”
“Oh, right.” She giggled. “I have a room with a really nice bed.”
“That’ll do,” he said. “But if we don’t hurry up, any flat surface will do.”
It was nothing—just his hand against the small of her back—but it had such a dizzying effect it nearly paralyzed her. It was the kind of touch a man gave a woman—a familiar, intimate, protective touch—and it was all she could do not to close her eyes and lean into that light pressure.
She wasn’t sure how she made it up to her room and how she opened the door. She concentrated on breathing in, breathing out. And it took every ounce of concentration she had to do that. The only thing she was aware of was Tristan’s strong, masculine hand clamped around her waist.
As soon as the door closed behind them, he was dragging her against him, clammy with the air-conditioning. He was shivering. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” she said softly.
He hung on to her and said softly, “I’m sorry if I hurt you, baby.”
Amber’s vision blurred. Her chest filled with feeling for him, and she ripped the T-shirt off him. Emitting a choked sound, Tristan swept her up in a crushing embrace, and Amber molded herself against him, holding the back of his head as he buried his face against her neck. She could feel it—the need vibrating in him, the energy that just kept building and building. He was literally trembling with it.
Unable to do anything else, Amber hung on to him, a thousand sensations raging through her. It was as if they were welded together
—locked together by need. It helped having his arms around her to take the edge off, ease the desperateness that held them both.
He turned his head and shifted his hold, a shudder coursing through him. It was as if they were both paralyzed, unable to move, unable to separate.
Amber could feel him gather his control, his whole body tensing; then he gripped her arm and pulled it from around his neck, clasping her by the wrist. His face hardening into stone, he ripped his belt loose, then tore open the clasp to his pants. She bent down and untied his boots, fumbling with the wet laces. He toed them off. With the unbearable tension radiating like a force field around them, he reached for her and hauled her into his arms. And their common desperation took over.
This time it was like a storm breaking over them. There was no restraint. There was no gentleness. It was desperation all the way. It was as if they were trapped in this frenzy, and there was only one way out.
It was a night Amber knew she would never forget. The night her man came back to her and they made a pledge to each other in a hot, wild and urgent and then sweet, tender and slow way. With absolutely everything in between. She had never realized a man could have so many sensual layers—so many facets—so much stamina. It was as if he was trying to make up for an entire lifetime in a single night.
When their passion cooled, he held her against him. She sent her hand over his chest, then up into his hair, then over his stubbled face. “I’m so in love with you, Tristan.”
He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Then I’m set,” he said softly, her body curled so intimately against him. It was everything he wanted. She was everything he wanted.
He ran his hand over her torso, his lips tightening even more.
He’d been ready to just don his gear, leave her in the cave in safety and warmth and go out there to track down Garza and kill him with his bare hands. Then, in the glow of the heater, he had seen where the man’s hands had hurt her body, the bruises turning black-and-blue.
Now they were nothing but fading bruises.
In this beautiful hotel room on this beautiful island, the cold, fear, danger and death were nothing but a memory.