She closed the door behind them, with Bobby still holding his socks and shoes.
Wes gave him a scathing look. "What is wrong with you?"
How could he explain? He wasn't sure himself how it happened. Every time he turned around, he found himself in bed with Colleen. When it came to her, he—a man who'd set time-and-distance records for swimming underwater, a man who'd outlasted more physically fit SEAL candidates during BUD/S through sheer determination, a man who'd turned himself around from a huge man carrying quite a bit of extra weight into a solid, muscular monster—had no willpower.
Because being with her felt so right. It was right.
That thought came out of nowhere, blindsiding him, and he stood there for a moment just blinking at Wes.
"You were supposed to get her to marry you," Wes continued. "Instead you—"
"I tried. I was trying to—"
"That was trying?"
"If she's pregnant, she'll marry me. She agreed to that."
"Perfect," Wes said, "so naturally you feel inclined to keep trying to get her pregnant."
"Of course not. Wes, when I'm with her—"
"I don't want to hear it." Wes glared at him. "Just stay the hell away from her," he said, and clattered down the stairs. "And stay away from me, too."
Chapter
The early-afternoon meeting between Alpha Squad and the members of Relief Aid who were going to Tulgeria tomorrow had gone well.
Colleen had been afraid that some of the more left-wing group members would be opposed to protection from the U.S. military, but with the recent outbreak of violence in the dangerous country, there wasn't a single protest.
She'd sat quietly, listening to the information presented by the SEALs. Bobby and the squad's commander, Captain Joe Catalanotto, sat up on a desk in the front of the room, feet swinging, extremely casual, dressed down in shorts and T-shirts—just a coupla guys. Who also happened to be members of the most elite military force in the world.
Bobby did most of the talking—a smart move, since he'd been working alongside most of the Relief Aid volunteers for the past few days. They knew and trusted him.
He warned them of the dangers they'd be encountering and the precautions and methods the SEALs would be tak-
ing to protect them, in his usual straightforward, quiet manner. And everything he said was taken very seriously.
The SEALs would maintain a low profile, blending in with the volunteers. Only a few would be obvious guards and carry obvious weapons.
After the meeting they'd mingled over iced tea and lemonade. She'd met many of the SEALs her brother had mentioned in his letters and e-mails down through the years. Joe Cat, Blue, Lucky, Cowboy, Crash. Some of the nicknames were pretty funny.
Spaceman. His real name was Jim Slade, and he was tall and good-looking in an earthy way, with craggy features and the kind of blue eyes that were perpetually amused. He'd followed her around for a while and had even invited her back to the hotel, to have dinner with him later.
Bobby had overheard that, and Colleen had expected him to step forward, to make some kind of proprietary move. But he hadn't. He'd just met Colleen's eyes briefly, then gone back to the conversation he'd been having with Relief Aid leader, Susan Fitzgerald.
And Colleen was bemused—more with her own reaction. It was stupid really. If Bobby had gotten all macho and possessive on her, she would have been annoyed. But since he hadn't, she found herself wondering why not. Didn't he feel possessive toward her? And wasn't that a stupid thing to wonder? She didn't want to be any man's possession.
She'd spoken to Bobby only briefly before he'd left for another meeting with his team, held back at the hotel. She'd stayed behind and helped discuss plans for TV news coverage of tonight's bon voyage party.
That meeting was brief, and Colleen was on the T, heading toward Cambridge before-four o'clock. She was inside the lobby of Bobby's hotel by :.
She used the lobby phone to dial his room.
Bobby answered on the first ring, and she knew right away that she'd woken him up.
"Sorry," she said.
"No, I was just catching a nap. Are you, um... Where are you?"
"Downstairs. Can I come up?"
Silence. She heard the rustle of sheets as he sat up. "How about you give me a few minutes to get dressed? I'll meet you in the bar."
"How about I come up?"
"Colleen—"
"Room , right? I'll be there in a sec."
"Colleen..." She'd hung up.
Bobby dumped the phone's handset into the cradle and lay back in his bed.
What was the point in getting dressed? She was coming up here. In five minutes—ten tops—she'd have him out of his clothes.
He threw back the covers, anyway, got up and pulled on his pants and a T-shirt. If he was quick enough, he'd meet her in the hall, outside the elevators. He pulled on his sneakers, checked himself in the mirror to make sure his hair hadn't completely fallen out of its braid.
He opened the door, and Colleen was standing there, ready to knock.
"Hi," she said. "Good timing."
She swept past him, into the room.
No, it was bad timing. The last place they should be right now was here, alone in his hotel room. If Wes found out, he'd be furious.
Bobby had been shaken by what had happened this morning. He truly had not intended to take advantage of Colleen, but he honest-to-God could not stop himself from climbing into her bed and making love to her.
Even though she didn't want to marry him.
Was he turning into some kind of prude in his old age? So what if she didn't want to marry him. She wanted to do him, and that was what mattered.
Wasn't it?
"I have a favor to ask," she told him now.
God, she looked beautiful, in a blue-flowered sleeveless dress that flowed almost all the way to the floor. He'd been hyperaware of her all throughout the afternoon's meeting— aware of how easy it would be to get her out of that dress, with its single zipper down the back.
Bobby crossed the room and opened the curtains, letting in the bright late-afternoon sunshine. "Name it," he said.
"I know we don't officially need your protection until we enter Tulgeria," she told him, "but remember I told you about that bon voyage party? It's tonight at the VFW right down the street from St. Margaret's—the church where I had that car wash?"
Bobby nodded. "I know St. Margaret's." It was in that same crummy 'hood where the AIDS Center was creating a controversy among the locals.
Colleen put her backpack down and came to help as he attempted to make the bed. "We just found out that the local Fox affiliate is sending TV cameras tonight. That's great news—we could use all the public support we can get." Together they pulled up the bedspread. "But..."
"But the cameras are going to attract attention in the neighborhood." Bobby knew just where she was heading. "You're afraid John Morrison's going to show up. Crash your party."
She nodded. "It wouldn't surprise me one bit if he caused trouble, just to get the news camera pointed in his direction."
He took a deep breath. "There's something I should probably tell you. Don't be angry with me, but I checked
up on John Morrison. I was worried about you, and I wanted to know how much of a wild card he was."
"There's not much to find out," Colleen countered. "I did the same thing right after he and I...met. He served in the army, did a tour in Vietnam. There's an ex-wife and a kid somewhere in New York. He inherited his bar from his father, who got it from his father. He's dating one of his waitresses—she shows up in the ER every now and then for some stitches. After I found that out, I started carrying one of those little spray cans of mace."
"Good plan. He's got the potential to be violent," Bobby told her. "Oh, I meant to tell you—I got a call right before I left the hotel. The woman who was attacked—Andrea Barker—she came out of her coma. Turns out it was her ex-husband who beat her up. He ignored a restrainin
g order and..."
Colleen touched his arm. "Andrea's out of her coma— that's great news."
He stepped back slightly. "So is the fact that it wasn't Morrison who put her into the hospital. That fits with what I found out about him—that he never leaves his neighborhood. He rarely leaves his bar. In fact, his drinking pals are all still talking about the trips he made to New York—one about a year ago, the other just a few months back. I also found out he used to be a member of St. Margaret's but he stopped going to church about a year ago. I played out a hunch and called his ex in New York, and sure enough, a year ago was when he found out his son was dying of AIDS."
Colleen closed her eyes. "Oh, no."
"Yeah. John, Jr., died two months ago. He was living with Morrison's ex-wife in the Bronx. She's worried about John. According to her, he's angry and ashamed that even when his son was dying, he couldn't acknowledge the kid, couldn't bring himself to visit. God forbid anyone find out
his son was gay, you know? And that's the thing, Colleen. No one up here knows anything. They don't even know that his kid is dead. He hasn't spoken to anyone about this. They still come into the bar and ask how Johnny's doing— if he's gotten that big break as an actor, if he's on Broadway yet."
Oh, God. "The poor man."
"Regardless of that, this poor man is responsible for putting cinder blocks through the center's windows. If he gets near you tonight, his health will be at risk."
"You'll be there?" she asked.
"Absolutely. I'll bring some of the guys, too. Rio, Thomas and Mike. And Jim Slade. He'll definitely come. What time does it start?"
"Eight. The camera crew's due to arrive at :."
"We'll be there at seven."
"Thank you." Colleen sat down on his bed. "I liked meeting Rio, Thomas and Mike...Lee, right?" She smiled. "They really think the world of you. Make sure you tell them what you told me about John Morrison. If he shows up, let's try to treat him with compassion."
"We'll get him out of there as quickly—and compassionately—as possible," he promised. "I'm glad you had a chance to meet them—they're good men. All the guys in the squad are. Although some are definitely special. The senior chief—Harvard Becker. Did you meet him? I'd follow him into hell if he asked."
"Big black man, shaved head, great smile?" she asked.
"That's Harvard. Hey, whatdya think of Slade? Spaceman?" Bobby tried to ask the question casually, as if he was just talking, as if her answer didn't matter to him. The stupid thing was, he wasn't sure if he wanted her to tell him that she liked the man or hated him.
Colleen was gazing at him. "I thought he was nice. Why?"
"He's a lieutenant," Bobby told her. "An officer who's probably going to get out of the Teams pretty soon. He's having a tough time with his knees and... He's not sure what he's going to do. For a while he was thinking JAG— you know, going to law school, getting a degree, doing a stint in the regular Navy as a lawyer. I just thought you'd, um, you probably have a lot in common. You know, with you going to law school, too?"
Colleen shrugged. "Lawyers are boring."
"You're not. Slade's not, either."
She laughed. "Is there a reason you sound like you're trying to sell this guy to me?"
It was Bobby's turn to shrug. "He's a good man."
"You're a good man, too. A very good man."
She was gazing at him with that look in her eyes that made him crazy. And she smiled that smile that made his knees weak as she leaned back on her elbows. "So why are we talking about your friend? Why are we talking at all? Wouldn't you rather help me make Wes really mad— and spend the next half hour or so naked?"
Bobby was proud of himself. He didn't move toward her, didn't instantly strip off both his clothes and hers. "Colleen, I love being with you, you know that, but I don't want to be a pawn in this war you've got going with your brother."
She sat up, her smile instantly gone, wide-eyed. "Whoa—wait! Bobby, I was making a joke. I wasn't serious."
She wasn't serious. "That's part of the problem here," he told her quietly. "You and me, we're not serious, but Wes is. He doesn't want you messing around, not with a man that you don't have a serious shot at having a future with, you know? He thinks that's wrong and..." And Bobby was starting to think it was wrong, too.
It was one thing to have a casual sexual relationship with
a woman who was older, someone his age, who lived near the Navy base, who'd maybe been through a nasty divorce and had no intention of repeating that mistake in the near future.
But with Colleen there were expectations.
Although, God help him, it sure seemed as if all the expectations were his.
"Wes thinks what we've got going is wrong? Well, what's wrong," Colleen countered hotly as she got to her feet, "is strong-arming your best friend into proposing marriage to your sister. What if I'd said yes? Would you have married me just because Wes told you to?"
"No," he said. He would have married her because he wanted to. Because unlike Colleen, this relationship was more to him than great sex. He turned away from her. "Look, maybe you should go."
She moved in front of him, forced him to look at her. "And do what?" she said sharply. "Have an early dinner with Jim Slade?"
He didn't nod, didn't say yes, but somehow the answer was written on his face. Slade was the kind of man she should be with. How could she meet men like him if she was wasting her time with Bobby?
"Oh, my God," she said. "You were, weren't you? You were trying to set me up with your friend." Her voice caught as she struggled not to cry, and as she gazed at him, she suddenly looked and sounded impossibly young and so very uncertain. "Bobby, what's going on? Don't you want me anymore?"
Oh, damn, he was going to cry, too. He wanted her more than he could ever say. He wanted her with every breath, with every beat of his heart. "I want to do what's right for you, Colleen. I need to—"
She kissed him.
God help him, she kissed him, and he was lost.
Again.
In truth, it was no ordinary kiss. It was fire and hunger and need. It was passion and fury, with a whole lot of anger and hurt thrown in. It consumed him completely, until doing the right thing was no longer an option but an impossibility. Sure, he'd do the right thing—if the right thing meant sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to his bed. If the right thing meant nearly ripping her dress in his haste to get it off her, of pushing down his pants and covering himself and thrusting, hard, inside of her as she clung to him, as she begged him for more.
More.
He was ready to give her all he had to give—body, heart and soul, and he did, disguising it as near-mindless sex, hard and rough and fast.
She called out his name as she climaxed, shaking around him, and he joined her in a hot rush of pleasure so intense it was almost pain.
And then there he was again. Back from that place of insanity and passion, back to this extremely familiar real world that was filled with rumpled bedclothes and mind-numbing guilt.
He swore. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he rolled off her.
She sat up on the edge of the bed instead of snuggling against him, and he realized she was getting dressed. Bra, dress, sandals. Her panties had been torn—damn, he'd done that—and she threw them in the garbage.
She ran her fingers through her hair, picked up her pack. "I'm sorry that you're sorry," she said quietly, "but...I'm a fool—I still want to see you later tonight. Will you come to my place after the thing at the VFW?"
Bobby didn't answer right away, and she looked at him. "Please?"
"Yes," he whispered, and she let herself out the door.
* * *
The elevator door opened, and Colleen found herself face-to-face with Wes.
He was getting off on this floor, Bobby's floor, followed by the trio of young SEALs she was starting to think of as The Mod Squad. Pete, Link and Mike Lee.
Wes's expression was grim, and Colleen knew that she looked like a
woman who'd just been with a man. She should have taken more time, should have gone into the bathroom and splashed water on her still-flushed face.
Except then she would have been in Bobby's room when Wes knocked on the door.
She went into the elevator, her head held high as her brother glared at her. "Don't worry," she told him. "You win. I'm not going to see him again after tonight."
They were leaving for Tulgeria in the morning. While they were there, she would be sharing a room with Susan and Rene, and Bobby would be in with one or two of the SEALs for the week. There would be no place to be alone, no time, either. Bobby would have no trouble avoiding her.
And after they got back to the States, he'd head for California with the rest of Alpha Squad.
He wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship.
She wasn't interested in one that created limitless amounts of anguish and guilt.
There was no way their relationship could work out. This was what he'd tried to tell her in his room. That was why he'd tried to spark her interest in his stupid friend.
What they'd shared—a few days of truly great sex—was almost over. It was over, and they both knew it in their hearts. It was just taking their bodies a little bit longer to catch up.
The elevator door closed, and Colleen put on her sunglasses, afraid of who else she'd run into on the way to the lobby, and unwilling to let them see her cry.
Bobby didn't answer the door.
He knew from the weight of the knock that it was Wes— the last person in the world he wanted to see.
No, Wes was the second to last person Bobby wanted to see right now. The first was Colleen. God forbid she see him and know that he'd been crying.
Man, he'd screwed this up, big-time. He should have stayed away from her. He should have taken the T to Logan and hopped the next flight to Australia. He should have hung up the phone that first night she'd called him. He should have—
Suzanne Brockmann - Team Ten 10 - Taylor's Temptation Page 19