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A strange emotion drenched her. She didn’t recognize it at first, but the truth set in, shitty and awful. She was ashamed. Drowning in the stuff. Her body didn’t have the soft, womanly physique Garrett had adored. Her arms and legs were defined by the muscles she’d been utilizing nonstop for a year, but other parts of her were skeletal. Her breasts were at least two cup sizes smaller. Her hip and collarbone jutted from her skin. Her hair had thinned. Even her fingernails were brittle. The erection that jutted from Garrett’s fly was for the body he thought he’d be getting again—the curves of the woman he’d claimed beneath the stars two years ago.
That woman didn’t exist anymore. Not physically; certainly not mentally. The only thing she remained sure of was her heart—and its love for a man who now stared at her like a pathetic charity case.
Sage gulped. Damn it, she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry again. She’d shed enough tears on him during the journey back here and again during her epic-length shower to have used up her allotment for the next two months. But the stinging bastards came anyway, dumping out her eyes, tracking down her cheeks. Like an idiot, she didn’t hide them from Garrett, either. Sure, because her blubbering was going to magically flip his desire switch again, right?
To make matters worse, she sniffed with the grace of an elephant. She longed to roll the hell back over—until, for one beautiful moment, Garrett looked at her again. Really looked. Her breath hitched. Her stomach somersaulted in a familiar way. A tentative smile tempted her lips. For that amazing moment, he was back. He was hers. The brilliant blue of his eyes swept her away to days of laughter, warmth, sun, and love.
He blinked—and just like that, the dark smoke returned to his stare. A curtain of the stuff coated his features in anger, vacillation, and confusion—
No. No.
He released her with a rough grunt.
“I can’t do this.” He dropped his head as if the action helped him make a choice, and then he bolted from the bed. “I…I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“It’s all right.” Sage twisted her fingers while nervously watching him pace the room. “Maybe we can just talk about—”
“No.” He stuffed himself back into his pants and then zipped up. “No talking. Not about this.”
She shook her head. What the hell was this, besides the wrenching feeling that he’d given her a book with the middle fifty pages ripped out? “Not about what?”
“Sage.” He came back over, sitting next to her again. Though the smoke still clung to his eyes, Sage felt the pressure boiling in him. In the lines embedded at his temples and around his mouth, she saw the pain of unshared memories, the tension of unspoken words. “I’m messed up, okay? In ways…you don’t know about. Huge fucking ways.”
“Sure.” She reached for his hand, wrapping his long warm fingers with hers. “Welcome to the club. You don’t think there’s going to be a few things for us to hash out now on both sides of this? Fine. Let’s get started.”
The strain in his features got tighter. His stare combed over her face from top to bottom, again giving her a split second of pure magic before diving back behind that wretched smokescreen. “You didn’t sign up for this mess, baby.”
“The hell I didn’t. Damn it, Garrett. I took that engagement ring from you. That was the day I agreed to all your sloppy shit, too. Don’t give me this crap.” She gripped his hand tighter. “Let. Me. In.”
He expelled a heavy breath and then pulled her knuckles to his lips. Sage winced. His Prince Charming move would’ve had her crawling over into his lap if she didn’t see that dark haze of control dominating every corner of his gaze, infiltrating every taut muscle of his posture. Oh, yeah. She was still locked out.
She could almost dictate what he was going to say next.
“I’ll be back soon.”
He set down her hands.
He turned and covered the space to the door in two strides. He shoved into his boots without lacing up. Before Sage could find the strength to scream at him, he slipped out. His heavy steps echoed heavily in the hall. Then faded completely.
The room went cold. And airless. And unbearable.
She forced herself to move. “Come on,” she whispered furiously. “You’ve done this before. You’ve taken steps when you didn’t think you could. You’ve moved when you thought it was impossible.”
That was because you always thought of Garrett in order to do it.
Ignoring the desperate cry in her throat, she reached for his T-shirt again. With shaky fingers, she pulled it over her head. The damn thing was inside out, but she didn’t care. She picked up the grungy capris she’d been wearing when they got here and forced her trembling legs into them.
Keep moving. Just do it.
She couldn’t stay in this room. Not with his scent lingering in the air, with the sheets beneath her still warm where they’d lain together, maybe for the last time. Probably for the last time?
She needed air. Space. Sanity. A lobotomy.
On unsteady steps, she made her way out into the hall, but she hesitated outside the door. Where the hell would she go? Could she go? They were in the personal-residence wing of the embassy, so sounds reverberated at her much like a hotel. Pots clanked in a kitchen. A vacuum cleaner revved down a distant hall. A couple of women chatted excitedly at each other in Thai. A group of kids bounced some sort of ball around. Life was going on, but the concept seemed unreal. She stood in place, wondering where she fit into it all now…realizing that the picture felt all wrong without Garrett in it.
He would come back. Of course he would. He was Garrett. He always came back.
They were assurances based on a man she knew a year ago.
She folded her arms, trying to gain warmth from the assurance, but she couldn’t stop shivering.
A breeze kicked down the hallway, carrying the smells of plumeria, coconut, orchids, and pad thai. She turned that direction and walked out onto a veranda that overlooked a sunken courtyard. The area was like an exotic setting in a movie. Flowers in bright pots opened up to the early morning light. In the center of the courtyard, large copper dragons overlooked a small lawn where red and yellow birds hopped. Somebody hummed a soft tune. The wind stirred again, promising a balmy and perfect day.
She took it all in, trying to summon gratitude for the splendor around her, for the very fact she was alive. But she couldn’t change her emotional forecast. The radar clearly showed mortified with a ninety percent chance of forever heartbroken.
Again not knowing where to turn, she opted for the breezeway to the right. Her luck continued its snarky trend when she came across a couple sitting together on a stone bench in a pretty alcove, though they may as well have been on the moon for all they noticed their surroundings. The bubble of new attraction glowed around them like shooting stars on full strength. Like she couldn’t have her nose shoved more into the shit of things with Garrett, she couldn’t help noticing the man was roughly the size of Half Dome, and the woman’s hair was the color of a late-summer sunset.
Hell. Zeke and Rayna.
“Shit,” Sage whispered. “Sorry.”
“Sage? Hey, wait!” Rayna’s voice echoed along the tiles with a mix of surprise and concern. “Sweetie, what’re you doing?” Her friend stopped when she caught up. “Holy crap. Honey, what happened?”
“Nothing. Sorry I interrupted. I’ll just…”
Her resolve melted as soon as Rayna put an arm around her shoulder. She turned into the only person who really knew her now. Finally, the tears of frustration and anger flowed all over again.
Chapter Five
“Where the hell have you been?”
Garrett leveled the question at Zeke after turning a corner outside the cafeteria and nearly colliding with the guy. His friend’s gaze showed more copper than green right now, which meant Z was royally irked about something. Fucking great. Garrett sure as hell wasn’t thinking clearly, and when that happened, he could usually count on his friend to do the job for them both.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Zeke swung a nervous glance around the corridor. The regular embassy workers were starting to arrive for work, bustling into the cafeteria for their morning coffee and conversation, jostling too close for comfort. His friend gripped his shoulder and dragged him out the door. Once they were there, Z’s irritation flared across the rest of his face.
“It means that I was playing out the we’re-the-besties bonding bit with Rayna, and it was rolling toward all systems go when your fiancée busted in. Two seconds later, the waterworks started like she’d watched The Notebook ten times.”
Garrett’s gut coiled. “Shit.”
What had he expected? That Sage would just roll over and go to sleep after he left? That she’d be fine about getting naked and hot and bothered before he spouted lines so tortured they’d be cut footage from the sappy film Z had invoked?
“‘Shit’ is right,” his friend snapped. “What the hell’s going on?”
He jammed his toe at the ground. Answering that wasn’t an option right now. You didn’t explain umpteen kinds of fucked up during an early morning stroll, even if the listening ear belonged to your best friend. In this case, especially because of that. Zeke was the unspoken leader of the squad’s Whips and Chains society. The honor was perfect for his friend, who’d gotten his first tattoo at ten and collared his first submissive at twenty. No way was Z remotely ready to understand why Garrett struggled with this crap, nor was Garrett inclined to share that entire story.
Not that he didn’t think about it. Way more often than he should.
That night, exactly between his thirteenth and fourteenth birthdays, was best forgotten—though his goddamn psyche didn’t always pay attention to what was best. So much had changed in that hour when he’d snuck out of the house to go visit Uncle Wyatt. He had come home with a different view of the world. Very different. Well, at least of what it was possible to do with a woman. At that time, half his world view was obsessed with that anyway.
Shame bombed him. He’d gone through the twelve years since that summer with a bullet in his psychological chamber aimed at Wyatt—and maybe at Josie too—as he not-so-subtly blamed them for the scene he’d secretly witnessed in the barn that night. Though Josie hadn’t been totally naked yet, he’d known she soon would be. He’d also known that the uncle he’d worshipped his whole life, who’d inspired his dream of going Special Ops one day, had returned from Afghanistan a changed man in many ways—but most disturbingly in this way. The conflict was grueling to resolve, especially as Garrett’s own alternative tastes began to creep in on him.
Quickly, he’d learned “those tendencies” weren’t talked about in a place like Adel, Iowa. Hell, they weren’t talked about anywhere. Even Zeke hadn’t said a word to him until Sage was gone and they’d had a two-week dry spell for missions, turning Garrett into a wall-climbing nuisance of unspent energy. Z finally came clean about himself, becoming Garrett’s tour guide down the dark halls of Club Subjugate. In one night, the guy opened Garrett up to a world more surreal than fucking Oz. Surreal…and amazing. And justifying. And, in so many inexplicable ways, fulfilling.
Because of Zeke, it was suddenly all okay—at least when he practiced the dynamic. When it came time for Garrett to demand the safe word and wield the flogger, it had been a different story. His instinct had roared yes, but his mind, still reeling with everything Sage, had revolted with guilt, confusion, and castigation. The only solution had been to drink himself into a stupor. Z had never judged his decision, the same way Garrett never held Z’s choices against him. He’d left Subjugate, putting that shit behind him for good. Been there, tried that. The Dominant itch was scratched for good.
Or so he’d thought.
His face was stamped on the idiot coin for good now, wasn’t it?
“Fuck.”
No. You’re not an idiot. You’re a moron. You had the woman of your soul on a golden platter, but you picked today to revisit this shit? She wanted you inside her. She spoke words you’d been dreaming of for a goddamn year. Instead, you forced her down. Spanked her. Not just on her glorious ass, either. You smacked her on the most sensitive part of her body. You made her cry, and not in the oh-my-girlie-stars-that-was-amazing kind of way.
And just thinking about it again gave him an erection that put the flagpole across the courtyard to shame.
“I can’t think straight,” he said past clenched teeth.
“No shit,” Zeke replied. “You wanna talk?”
“No.” He pivoted around. “No, goddamnit, I don’t want to talk. I just need to get out of here. Now.”
“You got it.” The guy shoved away from the pillar that his shoulders rivaled for stone-hard texture. “Let me go grab the keys to the jeep.”
“Rayna will stay with her, right? I don’t want her to be alone, but—” I need to bug out of here. Before this perverted monkey on my back eats me alive.
“Of course she will, Hawk,” his friend assured. “I’ll check on them both, and then we’ll bug.”
* * *
An hour later, the aplomb in Zeke’s bold features gave way to amazement. Not that Garrett could see all of his friend’s face, since the interior of the Half-Moon bar was engulfed in perpetual twilight and they’d just walked in from a bright summer morning.
But sometimes the tilt of a guy’s head said it all. That and one line laced in incredulity.
“What the fuck?”
Garrett said nothing as he turned to follow the hostess who’d come to greet them—a tiny woman with straight black bangs, a practiced smile, and fake tits. She led them to one of many sumptuous sitting areas lining the room and then motioned for them to sit in big leather chairs. One wall was consumed by an expensive-looking portrait of an exotic naked beauty holding decorated fans over her body in all the right places. A backlit bar gleamed in the corner, and the air smelled like eucalyptus and mango. Aside from the artwork and the hostess with the mostest popping open a couple of beers for them, the place could’ve been a classy lounge back home.
“Good afternoon. My name is Gia.” The woman’s English was a soft combination of proper British and come-fuck-me seduction.
“Hi there, Gia.” Zeke smiled with what wasn’t his complete panty-melting smirk—yet. “I’ll take a beer.”
“Ditto,” Garrett added.
“Can I get you boys…anything else? Are these acceptable accommodations, or would you like something more…relaxing?”
“This is fine,” Garrett insisted. “Thank you.”
A small pressure on his thigh drew his gaze lower. He watched her red-polished fingernail trail an inch closer toward his cock, nearing its one-hour mark of flagpole status thanks to Sage’s first kiss. “You’re a beautiful man.” She licked her bottom lip. “You’re certain there’s nothing else I can…blow your way for comfort?”
Garrett caught her wrist as she touched his fly. “Thank you, but no.”
The woman pulled her hand back with demure grace. “Let me know if you have a change of heart, soldier.” She sashayed away, leaving Garrett to await the inevitable snort from Z.
Half a second later, the guy delivered on the expectation. “Okay, asshat, I’m officially out of rounds to fire at your gray matter. I learned how to add up people before I could add two and two, but right now I’m tossing in the towel on making sense of you.”
“Never recalled asking for it.” He chugged half the beer while staring at his boot, crossed against his opposite knee. He hoped Z would leave it at that. No such luck.
“All right. You indulge me for a second, because I need to get this shit straight. The woman who’s been fueling your wet dreams for the last year has now pulled the miracle move of the century and come back from the dead. You were finally alone with her, the perfect chance to get some true-to-life action for those sorry nuts of yours, yet you’re here, getting your shitface on
with a bastard like me?”
His friend’s words did nothing for the muckball in his gut. Like I don’t know all that already? Like I don’t know what a feast Freud would have with my psyche right now? They’re called demons, my friend, and I need to purge them…
Outwardly, he scowled at his beer label. “It’s complicated.”
“Shit howdy, Corncob Bob, ya think so?”
Garrett slammed his foot down. “Look, dickwad, this is partly your fault.”
Zeke’s posture shot straight up. “What the hell? My fault?”
“If you hadn’t dragged my ass to Subjugate that night and—”
Fuck. His mouth had sprinted ahead of his brain. He realized it the same second Zeke did. His friend’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
“Okay.” Z drew each syllable out with knowing emphasis. “Now we’re getting somewhere. So this is about that Dominant streak you keep denying, huh?”
The stomach sludge roiled with new fury, forcing him to his feet. He grabbed his bottle as he went, hurling it into the trash behind the bar, filling the little room with the crash of shattering glass. “I don’t have a fucking ‘Dominant’ side.”
“Yeah,” Zeke muttered, “and I’m the Prince of Persia.”
Garrett thought of flipping him off, but the urge got back-burnered. He prayed like hell that the booze would help relax the neurons between his ears long enough to figure out this crap for good. Or maybe he needed to stop being so nice. Sit the demons down for a fight instead of a friendly chitchat. Guys like Zeke were comfortable with their demons. And guys like Zeke were also raised on Big Macs, Linkin Park, and fist fighting in the park.
He’d been raised on corn mazes, Kenny Chesney, and Sunday School.
Which meant he needed to dynamite this shit back to the darkness it came from—and no way in hell was Sage getting anywhere near the blast zone.