Kira shook her head. “You’re a bad guy hiding beneath that nice veneer you’ve got, Fleming. The jokes you played on the other guys were monumental.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I was good at that.”
“You were the worst of the lot.”
“I’m hurt.”
“No, you aren’t. You loved playing pranks on the guys.”
“In defense,” he said, “they played them on me, too. It wasn’t one-sided. I mean, we got bored, Kira. I livened things up. Kept them on their toes. They loved it.”
“That you did,” she agreed, eating heartily. “I’m just glad you guys left me off your radar after the goat turd joke.”
He gave her a warm look. “Truth be known? We all felt kinda bad about that afterward. You were so excited and we realized afterward that we’d really hurt you. It kind of backfired on us. You aren’t one of the guys. Men do that and don’t take it personally.”
She gave him a blunt look. “I trusted you guys. That was the problem. That was the mistake I made. I honestly thought you had some great, nice surprise for me.”
He swallowed his laughter. It was funny to this day, but Garret knew it had hurt Kira’s feelings. She had been new to the team and it was a hazing joke they played on all the newbies. She didn’t know that, and they’d broken her trust. Garret had seen that trust rebuilt over the years, but from that point on, Kira always held away a part of herself from them. “In hindsight? I wished we’d never played it on you. You never trusted us again as you had before it happened.”
Shrugging, Kira gave him a sad look. “You’re probably right. After the captain explained it was a rite of passage, something pulled on every newbie in the team, I got it.”
Garret saw the lingering sadness in her eyes. “How do I earn your trust, Kira?” He’d spoken the question so softly that for a moment it didn’t register on her. And when it did, he saw her eyes widen momentarily in shock over the intimacy of his question to her.
“Well . . .” she stumbled, “I guess time will take care of it. I already trust you, Garret.”
He poked his fork at the salad on his plate. “Not like I want, Kira. I saw the closeness you had with the Afghan women and children. I wished from time to time that we could share that same thing between us.”
Tilting her head, Kira gave him a confused look. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Garret watched the shock in her expression.
“But . . .” and then her voice went low, “we had a job to perform as a team, Garret.”
Shrugging, he said, “I know. But that didn’t stop me from wishing that you and I could have a deeper trust between us. I wanted it.” He looked into her eyes. “Did you?” He held his breath. If Kira said no, Garret knew the relationship he dreamed of with Kira would always be one-sided. It was only he who loved her. Who wanted a deeper, more intimate, trusting relationship with her. He saw her face grow concerned, and then a moment of happiness in her eyes and then it was gone, replaced by unsureness. Garret felt like his entire life was hanging on her answer.
It was.
Kira lowered her head, rummaged her fork through the salad, silent. She licked her lips and lifted her chin, meeting his narrowed, thoughtful gaze. “Yes, I did want something more, Garret.” The answer had come out low and wispy. “But it wasn’t possible when we were on the team.”
Elation roared through him, stealing his breath for a moment. Garret forced himself to remain expressionless because if Kira knew the extent of the kind of intimacy he wanted with her, she’d run. He knew she would. And that was the last thing he wanted. “A lot wasn’t possible in Afghanistan,” he agreed gruffly, forcing himself to continue eating. “I always liked the nights when we were in bed in separate rooms, talking about the day with each other.” How he’d wanted her in his bed.
“There was always an ease between us,” Kira agreed, cutting into her fish.
Garret pushed. “I’d like to build on that now, Kira. If you’re okay with it?”
“I’m okay with it,” she admitted in a low tone, holding his gaze.
Chapter Nine
“Time for your surprise,” Garret said.
Kira perked up. They had cleared the table, put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She was in the middle of making them coffee when Garret came over and leaned languidly against the counter, studying her. Every cell in her body reacted to that burning, casual look in his eyes, as if he were licking her like a sweet lollipop. It couldn’t be her imagination.
That unexpected embrace, all triggered by him, was still making her throb with need for him. How tough it had been to just hug him and not cling to him as she really wanted. After three head-on confrontations with Ray Crawford that day, she was desperate for someone who made her feel safe. Protected. Garret provided all that to her in spades. Her skin was still tingling wherever his long arms connected with her shoulders. And when he’d pressed a kiss to her hair? Her heart had opened powerfully and she’d held him a little tighter. Garret had responded, drawing her closer. Had he done it because he felt sorry for her? Kira knew she looked exhausted. And Garret was sensitive to her in every way. She had to stop herself from lifting her chin and finding his mouth. So close . . . so close . . .
Kira tried to tell herself that Garret had done this as a friend. There had been so many times in Afghanistan when he’d been caretaker to the whole team. He was just built that way; a man who could nurture, who had a strong maternal side and didn’t care who knew it . . . She smiled.
“What’s that smile about?”
Her lips pulled upward. “I was just thinking how much of a mother hen you really are, Garret.” She saw his brows raise. “Oh, come on, you know you are.”
“Well, maybe a little,” he hedged sheepishly.
Snorting, Kira said, “The children called you ‘Dada.’ It was as close as they could come to saying daddy in English. And you were. The children who had lost their fathers, who had been killed by the Taliban, doted on you. And you were like a father to them. You’d sit down on a step and they’d climb into your lap, climb up on your back. I lost count of how many times you gave the boys piggyback rides.”
Garret rubbed his flushed cheek and gave her an amused look. “They were great kids. I loved them all.”
One day, Kira thought, he would make a wonderful father. He’d been so attentive, gentle, always building the children’s confidence. The boys, in particular, worshipped the ground he walked on.
And just a few minutes ago she’d finally . . . finally . . . found herself in his arms. She had ached for just such an event, never dreaming it could happen. But it had. Even more, he’d asked her the most important question yet: Did she want to pursue something more with him? Yes! She cautioned herself, knowing that Garret was probably wanting the same, easygoing kind of friendship they’d had in Afghanistan. Nothing more. Still, the look he gave her went straight to her heart and then, to her lower body. That wasn’t a friendship look Garret had given her. It was so much more and it lifted her, lightness and joy flooding her.
“Hey, this is your night,” Garret said, playfully ruffling her hair. “Go on over to the table and sit down. You have to shut your eyes until I tell you to open them. Okay?”
His touch was delicious and unexpected. She walked toward the table. “This had better be good, Fleming, or so help me, you’ll pay for this. No goat turds this time around. Okay?”
He chuckled indulgently, hands on his hips, watching her sit down. “It’s not a replay of Afghanistan. I promise. You’ll like it.”
She gave him a pout and relaxed in the chair. “Your word had better be good,” she said and closed her eyes. For the next five minutes she heard the fridge open and close, heard the clink of glass and a spoon. What was he up to? His footsteps were solid and they came in her direction. Garret pulled out his chair. He set something down in front of her.
“Okay, Trouble, open your eyes . . .”
Kira opened them and stared into a bowl of ice cream. B
ut it wasn’t just any ice cream. It was her favorite: hot fudge drizzled all over it. She gave a gasp of surprise and her hands flew to her mouth.
Garret grinned broadly. “Well? Am I a man of my word or not?”
Tears burned in her eyes as Kira stared down at the bowl and then up at him. She saw the pleasure in his eyes, in the way he smiled, warmth pouring off him and embracing her. It felt so good. She looked away, swallowing several times, trying to get a handle on her emotions.
“Come on,” he coaxed her gently, nudging the bowl a little closer and handing her the spoon, “eat up. You’re too damned skinny, Kira. You need to put some meat on those ribs of yours. I know how much you love ice cream.”
She took the spoon, tears brimming in her eyes. No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop them. “Oh, Garret . . . this was so thoughtful of you . . .”
He reached out, grazing her cheek with his thumb. “Come on, eat up.”
Choking back a sob, Kira gave him an apologetic look and wiped her eyes clean of the tears. “Where’s your bowl?”
Garret pointed his chin toward the counter. “I’ll get some later. Right now I want to enjoy watching you eat that ice cream.”
Laughing a little unsurely, she scooped the rich, warm fudge along with the vanilla ice cream onto the spoon. “Oh,” she whispered unsteadily, “I know what this is about. For my birthday, the first year I was with the team, you guys had five gallons of vanilla ice cream brought in by helicopter for me.”
Garret sat back, a pleased look on his face. “Yeah, it was July Fourth. You were an Independence Day baby. I talked to the captain and he managed to get the ice cream brought in with our regular, weekly shipment of supplies.”
She savored the hot fudge and sweet coldness of the vanilla ice cream. “You blew me away when you guys brought in that ice cream and then sang happy birthday to me. I wasn’t expecting it.” Reaching over, she gripped his hands, folded on the table. “Thank you, Garret. This . . . this is so sweet of you . . . I really needed something good to happen today.”
He opened his hands, swallowing one of her small ones between his. “I know it’s not your birthday, but I remember that day we brought you the ice cream. It was a hundred and fifteen degrees out, hotter than hell. And the captain had ordered those five gallons to be packed in dry ice and flown out there for you.”
“You guys were just the best.” Kira reveled in the feeling of his roughened fingers around her hand. The calluses caused her skin to riffle with pleasure. Her lower body tightened with need. The look she saw in Garret’s eyes was one of interest and desire—for her. Truly? Could she really believe he wanted her? Man to her woman? More than friendship? Hesitantly, she reluctantly pulled her hand from his to resume eating her ice cream. She needed something icy cold to tamp down the boiling heat flaring to vivid life deep within her.
“We did it three years in a row,” he noted proudly.
“You guys spoiled me, no question.” Her heart was pounding and it wasn’t from fear. Was there regret in his eyes for a moment when she removed her hand from his? Just getting to touch Garret like this was a dessert, but Kira couldn’t tell him that.
“Hey, what’s that?” and he frowned, pointing to her wrist.
Her heart leaped. Kira pulled her hand away from the nearly empty bowl, set the spoon down and tugged down the sleeve, drawing it over her wrist. The bruises Ray had given her that morning had been exposed. She’d deliberately worn a long-sleeved sweater to cover up the evidence. Urgency thrummed through her as she saw Garret’s eyes narrow, his mouth setting, concern in his expression. “Uh . . . it’s nothing.”
“Those are bruises, Kira. They weren’t there yesterday.”
Her heart tore. Kira didn’t want to lie to Garret. Not to him. She’d never lied to him before. Pursing her lips, she whispered, “You have to promise me something, Garret.”
He scowled. “Promise you what?”
Her heart was breaking because he was clearly worried about her. “T-that you won’t tell Reese or Shay.” Giving him a pleading look, her hand covering the bruised inner wrist, she added, “Please?”
“Okay,” he growled, “I promise. Now, what are those bruises all about?”
The gruffness in his voice was laden with protectiveness. Pushing the bowl aside, she put her forearm on the table and pulled the sweater sleeve up, revealing the three long, thin bruises around her slender wrist. “This morning,” she began, her voice low and breathless, “I—uh . . . I went to Mr. Crawford’s house. He was in an ugly mood. Said he hadn’t slept well the night before.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Opening them, Kira’s voice lowered. “I took out the big iron skillet from the drawer beneath the stove and,” she drew in a serrated breath. “I-I dropped it.” She held up her hand. “My fingers . . . I forgot and used the wrong hand, Garret. I often drop things that have a lot of weight if I use it. I was nervous and I got distracted. Instead of picking it up with my good, left hand, I did the opposite.” She saw his eyes narrow slightly, feeling the tension mounting in him. “Later, when I put the plate of ham, eggs and toast in front of him, he grabbed my left hand with his. It—startled me. I was so shocked by what he’d done that I jerked out of his grip.”
“That bastard,” Garret breathed savagely. “He hurt you.”
Kira grabbed him as he started to get up. Her fingers sank into his cotton shirt and hard flesh. “No! Don’t do anything, Garret! Please! You promised!”
He halted and reluctantly sat back down, rasping, “He’s never going to lay a hand on you again, Kira. End of story.” Gently, he took her hand, moving his thumb lightly across the purple bruises. Grimacing, he said, “Thank you for trusting me with this,” and he searched her gaze.
Kira nodded, her throat tight. Just Garret’s featherlight touch on her wrist made it feel better. “I-I wanted to tell you before, Garret.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I-I was afraid. Afraid you’d go after Ray. Or tell Shay and Reese. I need this job, Garret. I’ve been fired from five already. It can’t happen again. Don’t you see?” Her voice had thinned, turned wobbly with emotion she was barely able to contain.
Wincing, Garret muttered, “All right, all right, calm down. Reese and Shay wouldn’t fire you if you told them what Crawford did to you. They already warned him about being verbally abusive.” He gently held her lower arm, staring down at the bruises. They were deep; Crawford had grabbed her hard, meaning to cause her pain. “Has he done this to you before?”
“God, no!” It hurt that Garret would think she’d allow herself to be someone else’s punching bag. “I-I was in shock. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was afraid for my job, Garret.”
“It’s all right,” he soothed gruffly. He reached out, caressing her cheek. “Stand down, okay? I need to get my own emotion under control.”
She had never seen Garret so angry. Not in three years of working with him. Besides his gentle giant status at the village, he’d never raise his voice to child or adult. Kira had never seen him like this until right now, and God, he was absolutely terrifying. His hazel eyes were flashing fire. “I know what I should do,” she said unsteadily. “I-I was going to do something tomorrow, after I slept on it. It’s not right. I realize that. I’ve already warned Mr. Crawford he isn’t to touch me ever again.”
“What did he say?”
It was painful to swallow. “He said . . . he said he’d do it any time he wanted.” Kira covered her eyes with her hand and whispered, “I believe him, Garret. I know he will, and that’s why I was going to come clean with Shay tomorrow after I gave him breakfast.” Lifting her hand away, she dug into his furious-looking gaze. “I-I just wanted something quiet, something good and safe around me tonight . . .”
“I understand more than you know, Kira. I’m not angry with you. I want to punch the bastard’s lights out. I don’t care if he’s had a stroke, he’s not allowed to do that to anyone. Especially not you.” Garret looked away, his mouth set into a har
d, thin line.
It hurt to have this conversation, but in a way, Kira was glad it had happened. She’d been right to trust Garret. Even more, she felt that fierce protection of his surrounding her like a warm, safe blanket. She was glad he was holding her hand gently between his. Desperate for human contact, from someone who wanted her around, who liked her a little, fed her wounded, shredded nervous system. “I’ll talk to Shay tomorrow. I promise.”
Nodding, he gave her a worried look. “You’re exhausted, Kira. Now I understand why. Let me handle stuff here in the kitchen. Would you like a nice, hot bath? Just a soak?”
It sounded heavenly. “Yes. That’s a good idea . . .”
“Stay sitting,” Garret said, releasing her arm and standing. “Let me draw it for you.”
Touched, she blinked back tears. How badly she needed a little care, and Garret had sensed that. “I owe you . . . Thanks . . .” she choked out.
He ruffled her hair. “Finish your ice cream, huh?”
* * *
Garret couldn’t sleep. He seethed with anger over what Crawford had done to Kira. Tossing, turning, the covers had landed on the floor on one side of his bed or the other. Glaring at the clock, he saw it was three a.m. Dammit. Where he wanted to be was with Kira. Wanted to hold her, protect her, kiss her, love her. He was so damned screwed. Just getting to embrace her tonight, all those little but oh-so-meaningful touches that had followed, were like food for his starving heart and soul.
Grunting, he pushed up into a sitting position, feet on the cool floor, gripping the mattress on either side of himself. Glaring at the burgundy drape-covered window, he cursed softly.
His mind rolled over Kira’s promise that she was going to tell Shay about Crawford’s physical abuse. Garret believed her. She had never lied to him and tonight, when it counted most, she’d remained honest with him. Kira had trusted him. His heart thudded deep in his chest to underscore the importance of her decision. He loved her so damn much, the ache in his heart was deeper than any gold or diamond mine on this earth.
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