by Cat Johnson
Missy nodded. “You’re right. Thank you.”
He’d scared her. Zane could see that. Resting the bags on the floor, he reached out and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Just be smart. Stick with the others. Don’t do anything foolish. Get in, do exactly what you’re supposed to do, and then get out. All right?”
Her eyes met and held his. “All right.”
Satisfied she was calmer, he nodded and dropped his hold on her. “Try a couple of these and see how they feel. The advanced three day pack is bigger than the regular three day pack, but I’m afraid if you fill it up it will be too heavy for you to manage for any length of time.”
Zane was looking around them for something to fill the bag with to simulate the weight of it fully packed when he caught her smile. “What?”
“I like seeing this side of you. The tough take-charge military side.”
It was nice that his talking about packs made her happy, but Zane had a feeling she wouldn’t like the real military side of him if she could see the reality of what his job entailed. The split second decisions he made on a daily basis that resulted in life or death for the targets. The emotional detachment that came from his years with the teams. The addiction to action that rode him as hard as any drug.
Those things wouldn’t have her smiling. Wouldn’t have put the warmth in her gaze that oozed with a hero worship so much like the one he’d seen in the face of the little girl who used to follow him around.
He turned his focus back to the task at hand. “Come here. Give this bag a try.”
“Yes, sir.” She delivered a totally incorrect but enthusiastic salute and then slipped the messenger bag he held out over her head.
Meanwhile he couldn’t help but think she was too young, too innocent, too damn blond and American-looking to be traipsing around Nigeria unprotected.
If he told her that, if he expressed his concern, would she change her mind?
Probably. She’d do anything he wanted back in the old days. Run to the snack bar to get him a soda. Wash his first car while he’d lounged in a chair by the pool and ogled all the young trophy wives in their bikinis. He’d been sixteen and obnoxious that year, taking shameful advantage of her. Now, it was real concern for her well being that motivated him to try and influence her.
Still, did he have the right to change her plans? To prevent her from spreading her wings. He’d done the same when he’d left home to join the Navy and then the SEALs.
How could he begrudge her this if it was what she truly wanted to do?
He couldn’t, but he could make sure she was as safe as possible. “When you’re done with that, I’d like to go take a look at the knives.”
“Sure.”
“You flying commercial?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Will you be checking the big bag?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then it shouldn’t be a problem if you’ve got the knife packed in the checked baggage.”
Missy lifted her brows high. “The knife is for me? I thought you wanted to look for you.”
“No. I’ve got plenty of my own. This one is for you.”
Her mouth fell open, before she asked, “Why?”
To protect herself from the many horrors that could befall a young woman in a foreign country, that’s why. What Zane thought and what he said were two very different things. “A good knife has too many uses to mention. And better to have and not need, than to need and not have, right?”
“Okay. I trust you.”
She trusted him, and he had called and asked her out so his father would give him money. That made Zane feel like a complete piece of crap.
Missy slung the messenger bag over her shoulder and posed for him. “I think I like this one. It’s actually kind of cute.”
The girl in the Burberry cashmere coat thought a military surplus canvas bag was cute. The ridiculousness of the situation had him laughing in spite of his guilt.
“No, you’re the one who’s cute.” He watched as she met his gaze and then shyly dropped her eyes away from his.
The situation with his father and the reason for this date was too fucked up for him to be able to handle how intense things were starting to feel with Missy.
He’d done some less than honorable things in his personal life, but he was most comfortable being upfront with the women he spent time with. Sex with no strings or a one-night stand presented no moral dilemma for him as long as his female counterpart knew what she was getting into up front. Before the clothes came off, he liked to set things straight.
It all boiled down to expectations. If she expected more than he was willing to give, then that was the time for Zane to walk away. He wasn’t out to cause anyone heartbreak. But this situation with Missy, forced upon him by his father, went against the very philosophy that Zane tried to live by—open honesty.
Maybe he’d be better off telling her the complete truth, but that could hurt her worse than simply keeping the charade to himself. It would be so much easier for both of them to just let her go off to Nigeria for three months never knowing.
Zane liked his love life simple—catch and release, and then move on. The problem was, Missy wasn’t anything like his usual prey.
Damn his father to hell for choosing this particular girl as the condition for the investment.
While Zane was at it, he cursed Jon for coming up with the idea for GAPS that had put him in this position in the first place.
He resented Missy too for being so damn sweet that she’d made him like her. Made him wish he were the kind of man who could be happy having a girlfriend or a wife, instead of the man he was. One who could only be happy with the next new conquest.
That brought him full circle, back to hating his father for demanding the one thing Zane couldn’t give—commitment at the expense of his freedom.
He reached out and took the messenger bag from Missy. “Choose which size pack you want and then we can head to the knife counter.”
CHAPTER 7
Missy wove her way through the sprawling acres of manicured grass along the driveway that led to the clubhouse. She crept along in her car at a snail’s pace in reverence to the golfers who sometimes crossed the driveway.
She’d grown up at this club, spending every day during the summer here. She’d eaten meals, learned to swim, golf and play tennis here. Celebrated birthdays and holidays, had made friends and had lost them, all while here.
And she’d fallen in love here—or at least she thought she had.
As a teenager it had been easy to believe she’d die of a broken heart if Zane Alexander didn’t fall as deeply in love with her as she was with him. But she hadn’t died in spite of the fact it had felt as if she would when he’d left, first for college, and then for the Navy.
She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him, convertible top down, sunglasses on, his light brown hair windblown. A foursome of ladies standing at the tee all turned in unison like a team of synchronized swimmers to watch Zane drive by. She was sure it would be the same in the dining room. It always had been, but tonight Missy would be the one who’d be sitting opposite him.
This time yesterday, if someone had told her she’d be having dinner with Zane after spending the afternoon shopping with him she would have told them they were crazy. It was hard to believe even now, but the proof was in the sports car creeping slowly along behind her.
Missy pulled up in front of the massive clubhouse and cut the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition for the valet.
He opened the car door for her. “Good evening, Miss Greenwood. Should I keep the car in the courtyard or will you be staying awhile?”
“I’m having dinner.”
“Very good.” He nodded and slid behind the wheel. He pulled away to park the car in the lot as she moved to the wide set of front steps to wait for Zane.
The impressive stone building had been built in the late eighteen hundreds. It always gave Missy the feeling of stepping ba
ck in time when she walked through the front doors. Aside from the modern cars outside and the sign requesting cell phones be put on silent just inside the massive front doors, she supposed it hadn’t changed all that much over the centuries.
Neither had the members. There would always be those families with old money who looked down upon those with new money. Men—white, straight, and Protestant—still dominated the club’s board, while their wives, also of the same demographic, gossiped behind each other’s backs while smiling to one another’s faces.
This place was truly stuck in the past and, sadly, Missy feared it wasn’t about to change soon. That was one reason why she’d been so surprised when Zane had suggested they eat here. Nothing, including the menu, had changed over the decade since he’d abandoned this life.
Speaking of Zane, she realized he hadn’t pulled up behind her. Instead, he’d parked his car himself in the lot. She saw him now, jogging toward her with a bag not much different from the one she’d purchased in his hand.
She smiled as he neared. “Don’t trust the valet to drive your baby?”
“I feel more comfortable having control of my keys.”
That was interesting. The club grounds had always been secure. There was no danger of theft here. “Really?”
Zane hesitated and then drew in a breath. “I’ve got a weapon locked in the glove box.”
“Oh.” Her brows rose at that revelation. It always had been hard for her to reconcile the memory of the rarely serious boy she’d known growing up with the hardcore image of a man who’d made the military his career.
He took her by the elbow, steering her toward the door. As they walked, he leaned low and close to her ear. “Don’t worry, I won’t have anything dangerous on me for dinner. At least, not a weapon.”
The warmth of his words against her ear sent a shiver traveling down her spine. She glanced sideways and saw his grin. “That’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want something to go off during dinner and give any of the older members a heart attack.
He grinned wider. “Would never happen. I always have complete control.”
That was too bad. As he put his bag down on the bench inside the front hallway and helped Missy off with her coat, she decided she wouldn’t mind seeing Zane lose a bit of that control with her.
With a wink and a smile, Zane handed her coat off to the woman manning the coatroom and Missy realized something. Just like in the old days, Zane still flirted with every female he came in contact with. Young and old alike. With both strangers and old friends.
His joking with her when they’d first walked in, his double entendre about his control of his loaded weapon, was likely as far as things would ever go between them. He’d called her because his father had told him to.
That thought was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her good spirits in spite of the warmth of his hand against the small of her back as he steered her into the lobby.
“I have to run down to the men’s locker room to change. Do you want to wait for me here in the lobby or in the bar?”
“In the bar.” There had been no need to think about her answer. Right about now, Missy needed a drink.
“All right. I won’t be long.” After shooting her a smile the likes of which she was sure had charmed females around the globe, Zane headed toward the stairs leading down to the locker rooms.
Turning, Missy caught sight of two waitresses whispering as they watched him walk away. With a huff, she strode past them, making a beeline for the bar. Getting through this evening was going to require a nice big drink. Or two. Maybe then she wouldn’t care anymore.
She’d already put a bit of a dent in the martini in front of her by the time Zane reappeared. He eyed her glass and then her as he lifted one brow. “I remember a day when you used to sit at this bar and drink Shirley Temples. Extra cherries.”
“I’m surprised you remember. That was a long time ago.” That he remembered such a small detail from so many years ago only seemed to make her angry.
It wasn’t her imagination that they’d been close, and yet he hadn’t bothered to contact her in the past ten years.
“I have a good memory.” He smiled.
“Apparently.”
Zane turned as the bartender approached them. “Whatever light beer you’ve got is fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Light beer?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Have to watch my figure.” He grinned and accepted the bottle, but pushed back the empty glass the bartender had placed in front of him.
She cocked a brow. “I pegged you for a scotch man like your father.”
“That’s reason enough to order a beer, right there.” He raised the bottle to her in a toast and then pressed it to his lips.
“Still stubborn, I see.”
“Until the day I die. Enough about me. When do you leave for your trip?”
“In five days. Not that I’m counting, or anything.”
He barked out a laugh. “Of course you’re not. Just like I didn’t count down the hours until I left for college or for boot camp.”
She had counted down the hours until he’d left too, but for a different reason.
“What’s wrong?” Zane’s hand covered hers.
Missy glanced up. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
“That big sigh you just let out, for one.”
Maybe it was the alcohol making her bold, but she decided to tell him exactly what was wrong. “I just would have thought that at least once over the past ten years I would have seen you. Christmas. Thanksgiving. The club golf tournament. I don’t know. Some time.”
“I’m away a lot. I spent last Thanksgiving and Christmas in Jalalabad. And when I am stateside, I guess I do avoid coming home. Georgie and I don’t see eye-to-eye on most things. Hell. On anything, really.”
“Yet when he suggested you call me, you did.”
“And I’m glad I did.” He squeezed her fingers.
She wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “You know, there are other people here besides your father. People who miss you. Like your mother.”
And Missy too, but she left that part unspoken.
He dropped his chin to his chest. When he brought his head back up, his expression made him look sincerely contrite. “I know and I’m going to try to be better about keeping in touch from now on.”
“That’s good. I’m sure that will make your mother happy.” It would make Missy happy too, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud either.
In the months since she’d planned her trip to Nigeria, this was the first time she let herself see past that time, to look forward to returning. It was foolish of her. This was Zane Alexander, the boy who’d been a Casanova since he hit puberty.
People changed. Had Zane?
He tugged on her hand, making her turn fully to face him. “I want you to promise me something.”
Her mouth went dry beneath the intensity of his stare. “Okay.”
“Be careful over there.”
“Everyone said the area where the school is located is perfectly safe. Are you worried about me?” She smiled at the idea he might be.
“Nowhere is perfectly safe. Trust me on that. And yes, I am worried about you.”
Maybe she should have gone to Nigeria when she’d been a teenager. If she had known it would garner this much attention from Zane, she might have seriously considered it.
Keeping her pinned beneath his green-eyed gaze, he reached out and captured her other hand, as well. “Melissa. Promise me.”
Hearing her given name from his lips rather than the childish nickname she’d never been able to shake, she found it hard to breathe. Somehow she managed to respond. “I promise.”
He dipped his head in a single nod and then dropped his hold on her. “It’s after six. We should go sit.”
“Okay.” Still unsteady just from his touch, she reached for her drink and tried not to spill it as she slipped off the bar stool and foll
owed Zane toward the dining room.
CHAPTER 8
“Look. Your parents are here.” After surveying the seated diners in the room, Zane glanced at Missy.
He saw her cringe at his observation before she said, “Yes, they are.”
He paused in the doorway rather than go to the maître de stand for their table assignment. “We should say hello before we sit.”
“If you insist.” She glanced around the dining room and, cocking a brow, sent him a sly sideways glance. “Oh, look. Your parents are here, as well. We’ll have to go say hello to them next.”
He couldn’t help but smile. He liked how this new adult version of Missy gave as good as she got. They certainly were kindred spirits.
It took his hand on her lower back and a gentle nudge to spur Missy into motion. He could have sworn she dragged her feet as they made their way to her parents’ table.
“Mrs. Greenwood, you look more beautiful every time I see you.” Zane leaned down and kissed Missy’s mother on both cheeks before he straightened up and extended his arm to shake her father’s hand. “Senator Greenwood, sir. You’re looking well. How have you both been?”
The older man pumped Zane’s hand enthusiastically. “Good. Good. And how are you, son?”
“I’m very well, thank you.”
“It’s such a pleasant surprise to have you visiting.” Mrs. Greenwood smiled sweetly.
Parents always had loved him. Parents other than his own father, that was.
“I know. I don’t visit nearly enough. But maybe that will change in the future.” Zane shot Missy a meaningful look. He left his hand resting on her lower back, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his father would see the deliberate move from across the dining room.
“Oh?” Mrs. Greenwood raised her perfectly shaped brows high. “And why is that?”
“I’m thinking of rejoining the civilian ranks.”
Missy frowned up at him. “Really? You didn’t mention that today.”
Zane lifted one shoulder. “We were having too much fun. It didn’t come up. My current contract has a few months yet so it wouldn’t be until later this year, anyway. I guess about the time you’re getting back from Nigeria, I’ll be getting out of the Navy.”