“You can’t beat yourself up over something you almost did.”
“Can’t I?” His green gaze lasered in on her face, for the first time since this entire conversation began he was really looking at her. The effect was mesmerizing. Her stomach starting spinning in circles like she’d tossed it in the dryer. “That incident scared me to death.” At her surprised expression, bitterness contorted his face. “Yes, despite what you’ve been led to believe, SEALs get scared. Honest-to-goodness, pee-your-pants scared. And that’s what that day did for me. It scared me something wicked.”
Once again, she beat back the urge to reach for him, curling her fingers into the bed’s comforter as she nodded for him to continue.
“I can’t describe what it’s like to hold the power of death over a person,” he admitted quietly, flexing his fingers and staring at his palms as if they belonged to someone else. “It’s a heady thing that makes a man feel more godlike than he has any right to. What that day showed me was that the hate had grown in me and made me not only accustomed to that power, but hungry for it. I was turning into the kind of man I’d been sent there to exterminate—an indiscriminant killer.”
“I don’t think you’d have be—” she began to defend him, but he interrupted her.
“And it was that fear, that fear of becoming like the very men I’d come to hate, that played no small part in my decision on the side of the mountain the day Preacher died. I let that fear overrule my own good judgment, my judgment as a soldier, as a SEAL, as a part of a team. I didn’t want to give in to the monster and, consequently, I made the wrong call.”
“Frank told me about that day. Your orders were to—”
“Fuck my orders!” he growled. “It was fear that guided my decision that day. Then when we actually needed al-Masri, I let my anger overcome reason, and I shot him in the head. And you know what makes it all so much worse? The fact that I convinced Preacher to go along with me. From the beginning, his vote was to kill the guy and run like hell, but I talked him out of it because I’d lost my edge and was too damn scared of myself. And you know what that got him? It got him fucking killed!” His voice cracked, and he pressed his thumb and forefinger against the inside corners of his eyes.
Another hot tear escaped and coursed down her cheek. Followed by another. And another.
“That’s the biggest thing I’m sorry for, Shell,” he said hoarsely, refusing to look at her. “For being a coward who was more concerned with harnessing the monster growing inside him than in making the strategically sound decision. The decision that would’ve kept us all alive, kept Preacher alive. Because even though it killed me when you chose him over me, I’d still rather see you two happy, together, than know I’m the reason he’s cold in the ground.”
Oh, Steven. My sweet, sweet Steven.
And my poor, poor Jake…
“Jake,” she reached out and touched his wrist. Oh, you’ve gone and done it now. Because the skin there was warm and vibrantly alive, prickly with man hair. It reminded her of what it was like to be crushed up against the length of him, to be held so tightly she couldn’t tell which heartbeat was his and which heartbeat was hers. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Steven. And you shouldn’t blame yourself. No matter what you say, he made his own decision that day.”
“But he’d still be alive if we’d killed al-Masri like he wanted to. You’d still have a husband, Franklin would still have his father, and I can’t tell you how—”
“Jake,” she squeezed his wrist, stopping him midsentence. “Maybe you’d all be dead if things had worked differently. Ever think of that? Maybe you’d have gotten pinned on the plateau and picked off one by one. The fact of the matter is, there’s no way for you to know how things might have turned out. What you can be sure of is that you didn’t do anything wrong.”
No matter how much he’d hurt her, no matter how much his continued presence in her life threatened to hurt her still, she couldn’t bear to see him wrestling with that kind of guilt.
He searched her eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth spread from his wrist to her palm, up her arm, and across her chest before she hastily withdrew her hand.
“But if you don’t blame me for Preacher’s death,” he regarded her with such intensity she was forced to look away, to busy herself by plucking at a loose bead on her clutch, “then why did you look at me like that last night when I introduced myself to Franklin?”
She briefly closed her eyes and tried without much success to steady her nerves. “Because of all the disappointment and hurt, all the pain and memories, it just seemed so…” She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know, unfair, I guess is the right word to use. That you were able to act like nothing happened. It…it just…it got to me.”
He dragged in a deep breath, and she glanced over. He’d rolled in his lips, and his eyes were unusually bright in the dim lights cast by the lamps beside the bed. “From the moment you stepped into the courtyard, I wanted to fall to my knees and beg your forgiveness. If I hadn’t thought you’d scoff at my apology, I’d have done just that.”
Her heart cracked along another old fissure.
“Well, now you’ve apologized, and I—”
“No,” he shook his head, sliding from the chair to kneel before her, causing her swirling stomach to drop down to her toes. Taking both of her hands, he gazed into her eyes. “I haven’t apologized for everything. I haven’t apologized for the way I treated you that night at the Clover or the things I said to you outside the base’s gates. I haven’t apologized for—”
“It’s okay.” Even more than his declaration of love, his remorse over the way things had happened all those years ago beat against her hard-won resolve, making her regret, making her want to believe that she was wrong about him. Making her start to wonder if she’d made a mistake. And on the heels of that wonder rode a tsunami’s worth of guilt. She swallowed and whispered through the constriction in her chest, “Really, Jake. I don’t want to hear any more. Let’s just leave it.”
Stay strong, Michelle. He might be sorry for what he did just like Dad always claimed to be sorry, but that doesn’t change who he is…
“You may not want to hear it,” he said, “but that’s not gonna stop me from saying it.”
Please let it stop you from saying it. “Jake,” she begged. “It’s really not—”
“I’m so sorry, Shell,” he blurted. “So sorry for the way I treated you when I got back from that four-month tour. My only excuse is that, even though the teams separate us from society, I’d never really felt like an outsider, like something other, until after the barracks bombing. Until after nearly killing that guy in cold blood. I thought if you ever found out what I’d become, you wouldn’t want me. And then I treated you like shit when you went and did the smart thing, kicking me to the curb and falling for Preacher, but that was just a broken heart and wounded pride doing the talking. I swear to God, I didn’t mean any of it.”
Splat!
Uh-huh, and that would be the sound of her resolve getting bashed flat with a sledgehammer.
He smiled sadly and shook his head, reaching to thumb away the tear slowly sliding down her cheek.
Oh, why couldn’t you have told me all of this back then? Things could’ve been so different…
“People talk a good game about what it’s like. They toss around words like PTSD and battle fatigue,” he went on, squeezing her cold, numb fingers. If only her heart could remain as cold and numb. “But they’re only words. No one really knows what it’s like until they’ve lived it and experienced it. I lived it and experienced it so much that I became totally detached from myself. Some days I felt like the walking dead, completely numb, and other days my senses were heightened to such a degree that the smallest things would set me off. I should’ve handled it better. I know that. But I did what I thought was right. I pushed you away to save you from the monster I’d become. From the killer I’d become.”
“Jake—�
��
“It took me a long time to get to the point where I could trust myself again, before I felt like I had a handle on all the anger and hatred. Even after I got your letter, there were still times I struggled. But I made a promise to myself then and there. I promised myself that I would come back for you just as soon as I felt strong enough, just as soon as I felt like a reasoning, rational man instead of one motivated by rage and a need for retribution. Shell, I—”
“Oh, please stop,” she pleaded, trying to dislodge her hands, but he held tight. “I don’t want to hear any more.”
“I know you don’t, but I have to make you understand—”
And then she did the only thing she could think to shut him up.
She kissed him.
***
Yo.
The touch of Shell’s soft lips was the dead last thing Jake expected to feel. And even when she put her hands on his shoulders and scooted forward until he was between her thighs, he still knelt there like a complete jackass, afraid to move, eyes wide and blinking in astonishment.
She was…kissing him?
Oh, mama, was she ever…
And just like that, the promise he’d made to her the night before was forgotten as old instincts kicked in. He grabbed her face, sucking on the sweet tongue she’d inserted into his mouth as his heart filled with hope. Was that birdsong he heard? Were church bells ringing somewhere?
It was like being in the middle of a Broadway musical. That is until he realized what this kiss really meant.
It wasn’t about passion or love. Hell, it wasn’t even about comfort.
She was just trying to keep her walls from crumbling. To distract him from saying the things that might make her reconsider her opinion of him, the things that might make her start to believe him when he said he loved her.
Well, that was just bullshit.
He pulled back. And the look on her face was desperation tinged with fear.
And just as quickly as they’d begun, the song birds and church bells fell silent. All he heard was his harsh burst of breath as he exhaled, and the heavy thud of his heart pounding in his ears.
“This isn’t why I brought you here,” he told her. “I just want to talk.”
“We’re done talking,” she said, reaching for him again. Her sweet breath feathered across his lips as the expression on her face turned provocative and slumberous. That look was enough to reduce any man to nothing more than a hard-on with a body attached.
And, yo, you better believe he wasn’t immune. Not by a long shot. But that wasn’t how he wanted it to be. When they finally made love, he wanted it to be because they’d come to an understanding, an agreement about their future together. He wanted it to be because—
“Aw, hell,” he grumbled, completely disgusted by his lack of self-control when she kissed him again.
Chapter Eleven
This is so wrong.
Michelle knew it in her heart.
She’d kissed him to shut him up. But she should’ve known better. Because it was impossible to stop at only one kiss when it came to Jake unless, like last night, she could latch onto some distraction.
Of course, there’d be no distractions here. Not in this hotel room.
It was just the two of them. Alone. So entirely alone…
And Jake was so heartbreakingly familiar. The way he touched her, skimming his hands up her sides until he gently cupped her breasts, his thumbs feathering over the tips.
Oh wow. She’d forgotten how toe-curlingly good that could feel.
The way he kissed her, nibbling on her neck before softly biting the tender skin there, making her arch beneath him. The way they fit together, breast to chest, hip to hip. The way his eyes burned when he looked at her.
Stop this!, her mind screamed, but she refused to listen. She wanted more. Just a little bit more heat, a little bit more pleasure. And then she’d stop…
Shoving her hands under the tail of his silly Hawaiian shirt, she was rewarded with the feel of smooth, hot skin rippling over wonderful muscle. She couldn’t see it, but she had a very clear memory of the tattoo covering his back. It was a bold, colorful reproduction of the SEAL Budweiser, the pin all Navy SEALs attached with pride to their uniforms—on those rare occasions they actually wore uniforms—an eagle perched atop an anchor and trident. She remembered thinking the tattoo was tough-looking and fierce, like the man who wore it.
Like the man she’d secretly dreamed of for years.
Just a little bit more…
She kicked free of her pumps, and he groaned when the movement pressed her more tightly against his throbbing erection.
Kneeling on the mattress, he pulled her into a sitting position, ravaging her mouth as he unzipped her dress. What’d seemed to take an eternity to do in her bedroom earlier this evening was undone in an instant with no more than a harsh zziiiipp of metal teeth pulling free from one another.
And this was it. Here and now. If she let this go any further, there’d be no turning back.
Stop this!, her mind screamed at her again. But that voice was growing fainter and fainter as Jake continued to love her, as her body started a steady chant of oh wow…oh wow…oh wow!
And hadn’t she already suffered the consequences of loving him? Hadn’t she already suffered the heartbreak? So what would be the harm in giving herself this one night to finally make love to him?
Sure, that was nothing but a rationalization for what was undoubtedly one of the stupidest things she’d ever contemplated doing, but did she even care?
She’d spent the last few years suppressing her own needs for those of another. Pretending she didn’t miss the feel of a man moving against her, moving inside her. Acting like she didn’t burn with a need she refused to fulfill. And tomorrow she’d go back to all that. Tomorrow she’d resume her role, adjust her mask, step back into her mommy uniform.
But tonight?
For the first time in a very long time, she decided to be selfish, to take what she wanted and not worry about the consequences.
Tonight was going to be for her. For the woman she’d been before all the pain and anger and deception. For this one night, she wasn’t going to worry what the future might hold, what terrible hurts and revelations it might reveal. For this one night, she was going to forget it all and just…feel.
Having made her decision, however idiotic it may have been—okay, it was undoubtedly idiotic, but she was done caring—she shrugged out of her dress, letting it pool at her waist. Jake pulled back, his eyes hungry as they stared down at her lacy bra and all it supported.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, using one finger to trace the silky, black strap. Following the material to the top edge of one cup, he gently dipped that long finger inside.
Goose bumps tripped up her spine.
She reached for him, and it was then he did something totally unexpected. He jumped up from the bed, turning his back on her and lacing his fingers together on top of his head. “I didn’t bring you here for this. I swear I didn’t. I meant it when I gave you that promise last night.”
“I know,” she breathed, shimmying out of her dress and panties, unhooking her bra and flinging it to the floor. Since she made her decision, she wasn’t going to let him back out.
She deserved this, dangit! She deserved the wantonness and fire and hedonistic thrill. After everything she’d been through, after everything he’d put her through, she deserved it…
He dropped his arms, turning to her, his hot eyes traveling over her naked body before he groaned. “You…” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You took off your clothes.”
“Yes, I did,” she whispered. “Now the only problem is that you haven’t taken off yours.”
She scooted to the edge of the mattress, kneeling in front of him as she reached for the buttons on his shirt. He didn’t stop her, just stood stock-still and watched as her fingers worked the buttons free. She reveled in the thin smattering of h
air she revealed, darker than that on his head, although the tips were still golden and sun-bleached. His nipples were little brown disks and when the backs of her fingers grazed his stomach, the muscles beneath quivered in a series of accordion-like contractions. He shrugged his shoulders so she could pull the shirt away, then groaned again when she dropped her fingers to the buttons of his fly.
“Why are you doing this?” He grabbed her hands, stopping her. “Does this mean that you…? That we…?” He shook his head helplessly, the hope in his eyes enough to have a dead weight settling in the center of her chest.
For a moment, she wanted to forget everything that’d happened, everything he’d ever done, take him at his word when he said he loved her and he’d changed.
But men like him never changed, no matter how much they might believe they had. Eventually, when things got boring, when things got routine, he’d prove himself true to form and go in search of the next thrill.
It was as certain as tomorrow’s sunrise…
“Nothing’s changed,” she told him, reaching up to drag him down for a kiss. “We’ve always been good at this, or…” She chuckled, and she hoped he didn’t notice that the sound was a little desperate, “…at least I think we’d have been good at it if we’d ever been allowed to finish.”
His eyes were so green, staring at her searchingly, but he didn’t offer up further objections as she undid the last button at his fly and yanked his jeans and his boxers over his hips. His erection sprang free and—
Oh…wow…
He was long and pink and…absolutely perfect…
When she reached for him, he stopped her, manacling her wrist. She glanced into his face and saw the struggle in his eyes, in the hard tick of the muscles in his jaw. “This is what you really want, Jake. You know it’s only ever really been about this.”
Softly she pulled his hand away from her wrist and placed it on her breast. His eyes followed the move and the minute she skimmed his fingers across her hardened nipple, his nostrils flared, and his gaze narrowed.
“Shell,” he groaned, his eyes avidly watching the movement of his fingers as he circled and gently pinched at the aching bud. “It isn’t just about this.” But even as he said it, he moved closer, his knees bumping up against the mattress.
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