He drew her close and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I appreciate you handling it for me. Thank you.”
He brushed her lips with his own, stealing her breath and draining most of her wary suspicion away.
“What you did was much better than what I had in mind.”
“Which was?” she asked when she could get her lungs going again.
“I was going to mail the thong to her parents with a note.”
“Oooo.” She frowned. “Way harsh. She has a ferocious case of hero worship. Her parents would have grounded her for months. And she’d have hated you until her dying breath.”
Brett grimaced. “Uh, that doesn’t sound good.”
“And her father would have probably shown up on your doorstep just to make sure you never contacted his daughter again.”
“Definitely not good.” His eyes narrowed. “How do you know what her parents would have done?”
She directed her attention to the dark blue t-shirt stretched across his chest and bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I was a teenage girl once myself. And I did a couple of stupid things, too.”
His arms tightened. “You haven’t sent panties to some other guy, have you?”
With his flat muscular stomach pressed against hers, and regions below resting intimately against her, her mouth went dry as dryer lint and she had to swallow before she could speak. “I’ve never been quite that aggressive.”
“You can—” His features tensed as he concentrated on the word he wanted. When his expression cleared, she sighed. “You can practice on me, if you’d like,” he said.
Meeting his gaze was more than she could handle, so she laughed and shook her head. “I thought we were going out for ice cream.”
“And a movie?” he asked. “I have several downloaded.”
He mentioned a romantic comedy just released to DVD she’d wanted to see. She glanced at her watch. She had to be up early and it was already eight. But she wanted to spend time with him.
It was just research for the article on PTSD she’d just begun to write. Wasn’t it? God, I’m such a fool to let him get to me like this. It can’t go anywhere. “All right.”
“My favorite ice cream place is close by,” Brett said as she collected her purse and sweater.
They went to Ben and Jerry’s. Brett ordered chocolate ice cream with white and dark fudge chunks and pecans, walnuts, and almonds. She ordered chocolate with gooey marshmallow and caramel swirls and fish-shaped fudge pieces.
“I think we may both go into a sugar coma,” she complained as they left the scoop shop.
He rested a hand against her waist. “You can handle it, Slim.”
She smiled. “That was possibly the best ice cream I’ve ever had.”
“My mom’s homemade is pretty spectacular. She used to fix it every Fourth of July for us. If she’s still here, I’ll sweet talk her into fixing us some for my birthday at the end of the month.”
“You don’t think you’ll be shipped off somewhere for some kind of training by then?”
“I don’t know.” His expression lost some of its animation.
“It’s going to work out, Brett.”
“Yeah.” He opened the car door for her.
He no longer sounded positive.
What would he do if he could no longer be a SEAL? His engineering degree would be there to fall back on, but would he ever be the same man? His whole psyche seemed tied up with being a SEAL. Because it wasn’t just a job. It was a calling.
Though Brett seemed to pull out of that dark moment, he had to fight for words three times as they talked on the way to his apartment. He parked the car in the lot next to the building and came around to open her door.
When he reached for her hand she asked, “What’s happened that’s got you so worked up?” She slide free of the car.
He closed the door and hit the locking mechanism on his key. “Nothing.”
“Did I say something?”
“No.”
He was shutting her down. Something he’d never done before. She studied his face as the hurt built. Maybe he’d open up when he was more relaxed.
“I heard the movie was really good.”
“I did too. I thought it would be the perfect blend of action for me and chick stuff for you.”
She laughed. “I happen to like a good action movie. I especially love Bruce Willis’ movies. He always plays a smartass like you.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “I think I have all the Die Hard series. You could spend the night and we could do a Die-Hard-a-thon.”
Was that a deliberate sexual innuendo?
“I have all my hair, I’m younger, and I bet I have more stamina than he does.”
Yes, it was. Her face burnt and the heat spread down her body like a conflagration. Her heartbeat tapped a staccato rhythm against her rib cage and she was having trouble getting a full breath.
They entered the building and his hand rested against the small of her back as he urged her into the elevator.
“You look flushed,” he said as he brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek.
“Don’t toy with me, Brett.” She caught his hand and held it.
His brows rose and his gaze homed in on her face. “I don’t see you as a plaything, Tess. You’re too smart for that and too wary. I’d like to know what caused that.”
The dropping sensation centered in her midriff had more to do with his comment than the elevator ride. “We all have experiences that make the whole dating thing difficult.”
“Share them with me, so I’ll know what not to do.” They stepped out of the elevator and wandered down the hall to his apartment.
She should have never said the word dating. They shouldn’t be dating. He was a source. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed. “If my father can’t come through for you, or doesn’t, is that going to be an issue?”
Brett straightened from unlocking the door, and once again, she was captured in his intent pale blue gaze. “Are you suggesting the only reason I’m interested in you is because I want to meet your father?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” But it was hard not to believe it. Hadn’t it happened in the past?
He stepped back for her to precede him into the apartment. “Sounds like that’s what you’re saying. If you’re worried about that, we can move on to the next journalist on the list and put that issue behind us. I’d prefer we do that, anyway. Mixing business with pleasure never works out.”
It was too late now. “No. My father’s already on his way and he’s sold on the story. To give it to someone else now—” She shook her head. God forbid. Ian would never speak to her again.
Brett tossed his keys onto the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. He lifted the narrow strap of her purse from her shoulder and placed her bag next to his keys. “Tess” He drew a deep breath. “I’d hoped tonight could be about us enjoying being together, not about the damn story or all the bullshit that’s going on in my professional life. If it can’t be, if you’re not interested in spending time with me, we can call it a night right now, and I’ll take you home.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her lip. She’d never wanted to be with anyone as much as she wanted to be with him. But the trouble he was in, his job, this thing with Ian, all added up to a recipe for emotional disaster.
She forced her gaze to his face, and her throat tightened. He looked so serious, so somber. And she couldn’t say she wanted to leave when she didn’t. “I’d like to stay.”
He nodded. “Good.”
He picked up the laptop from the bar and moved to the television. With just a few cords, he had the computer hooked up to the flat-screen like a monitor. He turned on the television. “When we’re down range, we use our laptops to stay in contact with home, and for entertainment when there’s time and a connection, which doesn’t occur together very often. I have some of my favorite movies saved on here. I just downloaded the one we�
��re going to watch.”
He straightened from the computer. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m good.” She moved to the couch and sat down.
Brett went into the kitchen and got a bottle of water, then returning, clicked on a file and the opening symbol of one of the national film studios came on. He settled beside her, kicked off his shoes, and propped his sock-covered feet on the coffee table, but didn’t try to draw her any closer.
She slipped her sandals off and propped her bare feet next to his. His feet were wider, longer, and obviously masculine. His tan legs were dusted with a sun-bleached hair, as were his forearms. She leaned her head against the back of the couch and tried to focus on the movie, but his thighs and calves stretched muscular and enticing on the edge of her vision, distracting her. Her muscles both tightened and turned to jelly when he crossed his ankles, bunching up what lay beneath his zipper. She’d felt him aroused and hard against her. She had some idea of the size of what he had to offer. Every nerve in her body sang with need. She turned on her hip, and drew her knees up on the cushion beside her.
Brett laid a hand on her thigh just above her knee, his touch warm, the texture of his palm slightly callused. Her insides turned to liquid.
His pale blue eyes held banked emotion, mirroring her own feelings. “You could give us both a break and let me hold you at least,” he said, his tone husky.
She swallowed with difficulty. Brett wiggled around to wedge himself into the corner of the couch and propped his feet back up on the table. When he raised his arm in invitation, Tess slid in against his side. She found a resting spot for her head in the hollow of his shoulder, and with her arm lying across the muscular slope of his stomach she began to relax. Just being close, sharing his space and his heat eased the raw edge of her need, but that aching awareness still hummed along her nerve endings.
“How did you know?” she asked softly.
Brett’s ran a hand down over her hip. “This movie is supposed to be funny as hell. We haven’t laughed a single time.”
He wrapped gentle fingers around her hand and held it against his chest. “I’m willing to wait while you work things out, to go slow, but you’re going to have to make up your mind, Tess.”
She breathed in the subtle clean scent of his cologne and him. If she said she already had, things would spiral out of control way too quickly.
Who was she kidding? They already had.
CHAPTER 19
Tess stood at the baggage claim area and scanned the crowd. She swung between excitement and dread every time her father visited. Why did she still allow Ian to do this to her? When he appeared, his battered canvas laptop case slung over his shoulder, the knot in her stomach twisted. Had she ever seen him without that case? Even during her teen years, his computer had been more a part of him than she was.
He retrieved a medium-sized black bag from the carousel, and turning, spotted her across the crowded room. As he loped toward her, she studied him. His long-legged, lanky build mirrored her own, though he outweighed her by at least sixty pounds, and at six-three, stood taller by eight inches. His red hair, tied back with a black strip, was bright ginger, as was his beard. As he drew closer, she noticed heavier threads of gray wound through his well-trimmed beard and at his temples. The crow’s feet fanning out at the corners of his eyes looked deeper, but otherwise he appeared just as he had when she’d last seen him.
A year had passed, and he had only contacted her twice. Once in the middle of the night a week after her birthday. He’d sounded drunk, but insisted he’d just been out in the field with some soldiers and was exhausted. The second time he’d called to retrieve the telephone number of a friend in France and to ask her to scan the address book he’d left behind and email him a copy. She’d emailed the book out the next day. He hadn’t contacted her to tell her if he’d received it or not.
“Hello, Teresa,” he greeted her and gave her a brief hug. He smelled like sweat and Scotch.
She couldn’t expect him to smell fresh. He had been in the air for more than twenty-four hours.
“I hope you had a good flight,” she said.
“It’s been a long couple of days, but I slept most of the night. I’ll feel more human once I’ve had a decent cup of coffee and a shower.”
“We can swing through Starbucks here for the coffee, then I’ll drop you at the hotel. I’ve texted Ensign Weaver to meet us in your room for dinner at seven. I thought we might need some privacy.”
“Sounds good.”
After a brief stop at the closest Starbuck’s, his long legs ate up the distance through the airport to the exit, leaving little time for talk. They passed artwork along the way, sculpted caricatures of a group of people standing in line waiting to check their baggage or claim it, and a model plane suspended from the high rafters. Milky midmorning sunlight glowed from behind the sloped bank of windows that decorated the front entrance of the airport.
“They’re doing some construction, so I’ve had to park in the temporary lot. We’ll need to catch one of the shuttles.”
“All right.”
They located the correct shuttle and boarded. Ian shoved his suitcase in one of the racks and slouched into the seat next to her.
“Where did you fly in from?” she asked.
“South Africa to Heathrow, and from there to Chicago, then from there to here.”
“I appreciate you coming.”
His tan gaze, much lighter than hers, swept her face. “Why have you taken an interest in this?”
“I met Brett Weaver at a luncheon. He had just been released from the hospital and returned to partial duty. He’d nearly died, and he was still talking about going back. How he’d stand between us and any threats. It wasn’t hype. You could tell he meant every word.” She drew a deep breath. “There’s a rumor that one of his teammates tried to kill him, and that’s how he ended up in a month-long coma. I wanted to know the truth.”
“Of course he wouldn’t tell you.”
“He doesn’t remember how he was injured and he won’t speculate about what happened.”
“These guys are used to keeping secrets, Tess. He’s not likely to let anything slip. I’m surprised he’s come to you.”
“He’s not really come to me.” Though he’d agreed to an interview and to help her with the articles she was writing, he’d met with her to get to Ian. Each time she thought about it, it hurt. It was just one more instance where she didn’t measure up.
Was he pursuing her just to get to Ian? Well if he was, he’d get what he wanted and disappear.
Just like Kevin. The douche bag, that asshole.
A hollow feeling invaded the pit of her stomach. She was not sleeping with Brett Weaver.
“So he thinks I can get to the truth,” Ian said, breaking into her thoughts.
“I’ve told him you can.”
Ian started to say something then veered away from it. After a pause he said, “I always thought you’d call me for help with your career, not a story.”
Tess remained silent a moment. “My career path isn’t the same as yours. I’m smart enough to know I’m not cut out to dodge bullets and bombs. I’d rather dodge the verbal ones here. I write about people and you write about events.”
“Is that what you think I do?”
“They’re events that have affected people, or will, but you rarely dig into the personal aftermath.”
“And you do?” he asked, his brows raised, skepticism in his expression.
“I’ve been talking to my boss about a series and also a new column. It will deal with people. The traumatic experiences people go through, and how they’ve overcome them.”
At his continued silence, heat raced to her face as defensive anger clutched her chest. “Some of the issues aren’t easy. Like a woman whose son is on death row in Florida, or an internationally known artist who’s lost his eyesight. Does that sound like puff to you?”
“No, it doesn’t. It sounds lik
e an excellent Sunday insert to the local paper.”
Nothing she did would ever be good enough because she refused to compete with him. Tears burned her eyes and she was grateful when the shuttle moved forward and gave her an excuse to look away.
Why couldn’t he just be a regular father and love her?
Why did she look to him for approval? Anger and pain tumbled together into a hard knot in her stomach. She grabbed onto the anger and held on.
When the shuttle finally stopped, they got off and wandered further up the row to her car. When they were in the car she asked. “Would you like to stop for a meal? Check-in time at the motel is noon.”
“I’m good.”
She dragged her seatbelt across her chest and snapped it shut.
“I wasn’t denigrating the choices you’ve made for your stories, Tess.”
She froze for a moment. “Sure you were.” She shrugged. “I’ve grown used to it in the last five years, Ian.” She started the car and turned to back out.
“My intent has always been to challenge you.”
She paused to study his face for a moment. The tide of anger she was riding crested. “No, it hasn’t.” He was slapping her down, and she’d had enough.
His odd tawny eyes narrowed and his long angular face tightened “You can give me the name of the hotel and I can call a cab,” he said.
“It’s the Holiday Inn on the Bay. We can be there in three minutes. I’ll drop you there. They have three restaurants. You can hang out in one of them and wait for your room to be ready.”
She jerked the gear into reverse and put on the gas. Silence fell between them as she maneuvered the vehicle into the escaping traffic and turned south onto Harbor Drive.
“I haven’t been here in a while. I’d like to go to Mission Beach. You could hang out with your old man for a while and give me an opportunity to apologize.”
Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) Page 18