Arms thrown wide, Griffin yelled, “Come to me, babe.”
Really, how could she refuse? So she put her fear—her thoroughly rational fear—aside. For Griffin. And a little bit for herself, too. Clamped both hands on the cable attaching her to the zip line. Kept her eyes fastened on Griff, so that if the line did snap, at least her last view would be an awesome one. Then she took a step forward.
And flew.
The whirring of the cable was the only sound disturbing the air. The peacefulness of it surprised her as much as the smoothness. It didn’t feel like falling. It truly did feel like flying. That didn’t mean that her hands weren’t already cramping from how tightly she white-knuckled the cable. But Chloe liked it. She liked it enough to look away from Griff and take in the wholly new sensation of being above the treetops. Of the countless different shades of green in the valley below. The glint of water off the lake. It was glorious. Still scary, but fun at the same time. Just as Griff had promised.
Then she was suddenly back in the trees. Stepping onto the wooden boards encircling the thick trunk. Landing thigh to thigh with Griffin, who rewarded her with a blinding grin.
“Well?”
“Pretty awesome,” she admitted.
“So are you. That took guts, Chloe,” he said with a voice full of admiration.
Guts. Stupidity. She still wasn’t sure which. “To step into thin air? Yeah, it did!”
“No. To move past your fear.” Griffin kissed her. One of his signature kisses that started out full of sweet heat then quickly kicked into sultry fire searing over her lips. “That was brave.”
“Like I said before, you’re good inspiration, Lieutenant.” Because she’d never have taken that step without Griff—both metaphorical and literal.
Griffin laced his fingers through hers as he unclipped them from the line. “Ready to keep going? The rope ladder is up next.”
“Okay. But I want to go first on the next zip-line run. So I can watch your smile as you fly.”
“Just as long as you remember you’re the one who put it there.”
Chapter 11
It had been tempting to come onto base in a Hawaiian party shirt. Griff was grounded. Uniform regs didn’t seem to apply. But Griff was here to ask for a favor, not to mention trying to remind his commander that he was a valued Coast Guard officer. So he had dragged on his tropical blues, slapped his white Combination cap on his head, and felt grateful that the trops didn’t require a damn tie.
The commander’s door was open. Griff had timed his visit strategically. Commander Lewis never scheduled meetings after three, to give himself time to catch up on paperwork. By the end of the day, he was looking for any excuse to get away from the bureaucratic nonsense that filled the hours of a deskbound officer. The mere thought of it made Griff shudder. Why would anyone accept a command that kept him out of the sky? Away from the action?
He rapped the doorframe with his knuckles. “Commander? Got a minute?”
Relief flashed across the older man’s weathered face. “Come in, Lieutenant.”
Griff removed his cover and tucked it under his arm. “This won’t take long, sir. I just wanted to run by you a project that has potential publicity implications.”
Lewis’s eyes shifted to the desk calendar. “Thirteen days.” He tapped it with his finger for emphasis. “Thirteen days without a chopper under your ass is what finally got you to take regulations seriously. I’m impressed. I thought it’d take a full month to get you to toe the line.”
“I only want what’s best for the Coast Guard.” Which was technically true. Although, in Griff’s book, saving people, no matter how he did it or how many rules he broke, was always the best possible thing for the Coast Guard.
With a jerk of his chin, Lewis indicated that Griff should sit in the wooden chair with the USCG seal carved into the back. “What’s your project?”
Here’s where it could all go sideways. But Griff had always faced his problems head-on. And it appeared that coming in person, hat in hand, had been smarter than the email he’d originally thought about sending. “The blog I run with my friends—”
Lewis cut him off with a wave of his hand. “The one with the god-awful name. I remember.”
He’d made sure to tell all his commanding officers about Naked Men. Griff was careful not to ever go into any specifics of his job on the blog, but he also didn’t hide what he did for a living. So far, none of the brass had cared. Aside from their all sharing a general loathing of its name. He just hoped that continued to be the case.
“We’ve been offered the opportunity to expand it into a podcast. On satellite radio.”
“Same name?”
Griff wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. Barely managed to do so by shifting his focus to the Stars and Stripes hanging limply in the corner. “Yes.”
Lewis inhaled a whistle through the side of a pursed mouth. “That’s a shame.”
“We like it.” Realizing that wouldn’t be nearly enough to convince the commander, Griff hastened to add, “And the point is to bring our current audience over. Can’t do that with a different name.”
The swivel chair squeaked as Commander Lewis turned to the computer on the side credenza. Clicking over to his email on the immense monitor, he paused the cursor over COMPOSE. “Do you want the press office to do a release on it?”
Wait—was he actually offering help? “God, no. We’re not looking for extra publicity.” The ACSs unanimously hated publicity, which made the cause of Griff’s grounding so ironic. At least, according to Josh’s twisted sense of humor. They’d gotten enough of it for a lifetime before they were old enough to vote. “We just think it might be fun. But I won’t do it without your approval.”
“Damn skippy you won’t.” The commander leaned forward to plant his forearms on the blotter. “You do a good job on that blog, Montgomery. I’ve read it a time or two. My nephew loves it. James would be tickled if he could come watch a podcast.”
That was easy. Griff would never have thought to bribe the commander. But if this was all it took to get the green light, he’d even let the kid write a guest post. Or maybe choose the topic for the week.
“Let me get the first one under my belt, and then I’ll see what I can set up.”
“Do the podcast. Just don’t make me regret giving you permission.”
“No, sir.” Griffin started to stand, but Lewis gave him The Look. Griff had seen it more often than he could count. The commander wasn’t long-winded. He just knew how hard it was to corral his squadron into one place for more than five minutes. So once he got everyone there, no matter how often they tried to wrap it up, his briefings continued after The Look.
“Glad you came in today. It saves me a phone call.”
Griff’s pulse quickened. This was it. He’d get his wings back. He’d be pulled off the mandatory vacation that felt like a prison sentence. Be put back on rotation. Everything would return to normal. “I can be in my flight suit in fifteen, sir.”
The older man looked confused, and then shook his head. “Don’t fire up those thrusters so fast. I wanted you in here to discuss a different direction for your future. Not to put you back on active duty.”
That made less sense than those new wasabi-flavored potato chips. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“I heard what you said to me on the tarmac that day. I’ve watched you, busting your balls to save people. You always put the safety of others first. It’s my job to ride you about regs, but I admire how you handle yourself out there.”
“Thank you, sir.” The praise was unexpected but not unwelcome. Commander Lewis had earned so many medals he should list to the left from the sheer weight of them on his chest. He was the epitome of a Coast Guard career officer. His words settled with a warm weight onto Griff’s usually locked-down ego. Saving lives wasn’t something Griff did for commendations. But it was good to know that his determination got noticed. That was enough for him.
“Your tea
m respects you. Hell, the whole base respects and likes you. That’s not an easy thing to come by. You’re a stellar leader. So your name’s been put up for discussion in terms of a promotion.”
Griff had no response. He was too busy processing the possibilities. No matter which way he came at it, a promotion probably meant leaving his pilot seat for good. This hadn’t even been on his radar to happen for another handful of years. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“It’s obvious to anyone with eyeballs how much you care about saving lives. If I put you in charge of an entire division, it’ll be your responsibility to keep your men safe, as well as the lives of those they rescue. Think that’d be right up your alley.”
No. No way. No way in hell. Griff white-knuckled the chair arms. Wished he could stand up and toss it out the window. Because he didn’t see it as a promotion. It was a permanent grounding. It was a worse punishment even than being tossed out of the Coast Guard. At least then he wouldn’t have to be sitting right on the fringe of the action, day in and day out.
“Sir, I’m not sure I deserve—”
“You and about twenty other people. Everyone who saw or heard about that video of you on YouTube is less than thrilled with this idea of mine. They think you’re a loose cannon.”
It was on the tip of Griff’s tongue to agree. Not because he believed it, but because it would put an abrupt end to this discussion. But he knew better. Military service wasn’t a vacation. You didn’t get to choose your posting. And if you bitched about anything, you could be damn sure that you’d get sent to some armpit of a city in the ass-end of Nowheresville. What was worse than being grounded? Being grounded in Maine or Michigan.
So he didn’t argue. Also didn’t agree. Didn’t even plead his case. It wouldn’t do any good. Griff just sat, stewing.
“Another option being floated is to move you into a slot that’s opening up at Coast Guard Headquarters in the National Command Center.”
Shit just kept piling on top of steaming crap. That option? It left him with the possibility of accidentally brushing elbows in the Pentagon with his deadbeat dad, the General. Nothing like being forced by proximity and protocol to salute a man who hadn’t looked him in the eye in twenty years.
Nope. Evidently he couldn’t sit there with his mouth shut after all. Because the commander was overlooking the most obvious solution. Why fix what’s not broken? Griff had to risk it. “Is there an option being floated where I go back to doing my current job? The one that, according to you, I’m very good at?”
That got him some paper shuffling, throat clearing, and a general avoidance of any eye contact. “Well, nothing’s confirmed yet. I’m recommending you take another few weeks of leave while we sort this out. You’ve got sick days and vacation up the wazoo. Use it.”
Griff didn’t take vacation, unless the ACSs were going on a trip together. He loved his job. Loved showing up every day and making a difference. “Sir, even if I stay grounded, I can come in and—”
Lewis shoved out of his chair. Which meant Griff had to jerk to attention, too. “All the stats they shove at me these days are about burnout. How to prevent it, how to keep career officers past their twenty-year mark. The two biggest suggestions? A steady relationship and use of all allocated vacation time. Either of those ring true for you, Montgomery?”
He debated telling the commander that the virgin status of his new girlfriend was much more stressful than those statistics probably anticipated. But that was another whole can of worms Griff was loath to open. “Possibly.”
“You remain off duty until I call and tell you to drag your ass back in here for new orders. Dismissed.”
—
The loud banging on Chloe’s door startled her. Made her drop her grape leaf and handful of stuffing to grab for a knife. Well, her hand hovered over the knife. Just for a second. Then she forced herself to wipe both hands on the kitchen towel and walk calmly to the door. This was a secure building. There was nothing to be worried about. Griff would probably never let her live down the way she’d answered the door armed with a corkscrew a few days ago.
It was only sensible—not paranoid in the least—to look through the peephole, though. And what she saw had her scrabbling to get the chain off as fast as possible. Because Griffin Montgomery in his Coast Guard uniform was a sight not to be constrained by a fish-eye lens.
What Chloe wanted to do was lean dreamily against the doorframe and just stare for eight or nine days. There was no way her tax dollars covered custom tailoring. So the reason his light blue shirt with multiple rows of colored ribbon bars fit him like a glove had to be the sculpted physique beneath. Every crease was sharp, just like his cheekbones. The best part, though, just might be the white hat with the bottom border of navy blue and a gold eagle, wings outstretched, emblazoned in the center. Griffin looked ready to go off and protect her. Protect America. God, it was sexy.
What Chloe actually did, though, was try to act cool. Like swashbuckling heroes knocked on her door all the time. “Lieutenant.” She invited him in with a sweeping gesture of her arm.
As he entered, she tugged up her saggy yoga pants and wished she was wearing something more exciting, more revealing, more…just more than her apricot tee. An all-around wardrobe makeover was definitely in the works.
“Don’t call me that,” he mumbled with a gentle yank of her ponytail.
“Why? Did I get it wrong?” Chloe tugged off her elastic and fluffed out her hair. “You are a lieutenant, aren’t you?”
“For now.” To her dismay, he tore off his cap and sailed it across the room like a perfectly tossed Frisbee. It landed in the center of her coffee table. Griff followed close behind its trajectory, flopping into the deep sofa cushions. Arms outspread along the back of it, feet planted wide, he looked utterly at home. Which was good. He also looked utterly miserable. Which was not good.
She’d have to get him to talk about whatever was bothering him. Chloe didn’t know if Griff was a sharer. But she did know that most men on the planet hated talking about their feelings. David revealed anything only when she bribed him with beer, burgers, and onion rings. It’d no doubt be just as painful for her to drag it out of Griff as it’d be for him to reveal it. Still, like getting a flu shot, sometimes you just had to suck it up.
Chloe went back to the counter to finish rolling the final grape leaf. “I know we established that we’re dating. Officially. But an unannounced pop-in is still kind of odd. And this is the second one in a week. Not that I mind, but, ah…what are you doing here?”
“I’m a man of action. If I see a problem, I’m not happy unless I fix it. Right now, though? My career is a huge problem. And there’s nothing I can do to fix it. Totally out of my hands. So I thought I’d come over here and…”
Chloe did not like where this was headed. She popped the stuffed grape leaf into the already packed frying pan and poured in some broth. That gave her the space to breathe and not immediately bite his head off. Rinsing her fingers did give her an excuse to raise her voice over the running water. “And do what—fix me? Fix our relationship?”
“No. Not at all. I just thought…” His voice trailed off. The silence lasted so long that Chloe looked over at Griff, just as he braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “I thought you could fix me. I’ve never thought that before, about anyone. I’ve never wanted it.” Shoulders hunched, he looked back up at her. His expression was one of stark confusion. Vulnerability. Then he jerked his head from side to side. “I shouldn’t have come. My head’s in a bad place.”
The heavily decorated, super-brave pilot wanted to be rescued by her? That was unexpected. Not to mention incredibly touching. Gratifying. Like they’d just time-jumped forward six months in their relationship, to where he came home from a bad day and accepted her comfort as a matter of course.
“Let’s see if I can get you into a better place.” Chloe dried her hands. Her bare feet made no sound on the thick Berber carpet as she cr
ossed to the couch. She sat next to him, then pulled Griffin down to rest his head in her lap. Languorously she skimmed her fingertips along his scalp in a soothing rhythm.
After a few moments, Griffin closed his eyes. She could feel him sink deeper, the way his muscles relaxed and he lay heavier across her legs. “Mmm. Better already.”
“I’m glad you came over.”
He grunted. “Right. Like you really needed my anger funking up the place.”
“I’m serious.” His coming here seeking solace or refuge or whatever he was looking for meant the world to her. “If all you wanted was a good-time girl—”
His sharp laugh cut her off. “Isn’t that what they used to call hookers?”
“Not quite what I meant, but sure. Somebody to sit across from you at dinner, and then lie under you in bed. You could go out and find a new one of those any day of the week. We’re dating. That implies a deeper level of sharing.” Chloe moved her hand down to rest on top of his. “I want to be here to help ease your bad days. To listen to your frustrations, to talk through them and lift your spirits. I care for you, Griffin. The whole package—including the sulks and sadness, not just the fun and frivolity. I want to help. Will you let me?”
Griffin flipped her hand over, pressed a kiss in the center of her palm, and then folded her fingers down as if to hold the kiss in. The tender gesture melted Chloe’s heart into a puddle. Then Griffin tipped his head back to look up at her.
“Well, that may be the best offer I’ve ever gotten.”
“Ever?” she teased. Because it was important to have light moments to balance the dark. Chloe had learned that the hard way.
“Top three, for sure. There was the time Knox offered me five thousand dollars for the last slice of pizza. Those triplets who wanted to do body shots off of me in Cancun…” His voice trailed off. “Nah. I can’t even joke about it. Yours is definitely the best offer ever, Chloe. Yes—and thank you.” He reached up to pull her forehead down to his. They sat there in silence for a few moments. Breathing each other in. Corny, but true.
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