Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  “Maybe so, but I have no memory of it.”

  The smile drops from his face as quickly as it appeared. “Oh.” Then he looks curious. “Really? Nothing at all?”

  I close my eyes to avoid seeing his expression, my face growing warm. “Stop looking so surprised.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  My groan cuts him short. None of this matters. “Just . . . help me.” I glance up at him and take a shaky breath. “Please.”

  He steps forward and fingers the hem of my tank. I think he tries to avoid touching my skin, but the wet fabric clings and it is unavoidable. His touch sends electric jolts to my system and leaves a trail of goose bumps behind his knuckles. I focus on his chest and note how his breath stills. Looking higher, I find the quickened throb in his neck. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily.

  I do not know if it helps or worsens the situation to know he is as nervous as I, and I do not consider it for much longer. The time has come to work the wet cloth over the burn encompassing my arm, and the pain is too much. I grit my teeth and try to breathe, but it is difficult. By the time he has finished, tears leak from my eyes.

  Noah cups my face and uses his thumbs to brush away the wetness. “Sorry. You okay?”

  I nod, unable to unhinge my aching jaw. My self-consciousness has been dashed away by the agony.

  Noah steps by me to pick up and shake out a drape, causing dust motes to skitter around in a frenzy. Standing behind me, he wraps the stiff material over my good shoulder and up under my bad one. I clasp it together in shivering fists.

  His hands rest on my shoulders. He lets out a slow breath before saying, “Jeans next,” then comes around to face me. “I won’t look.”

  My heart pounds so hard and fast against my sternum I think it will bruise. “I do not see you shedding your pants.”

  I am stalling the inevitable, and according to the look he gives me, he knows it. Holding my gaze until the last second, he bends to unlace and kick off his boots, then removes his socks. Finally, he drops his pants.

  If my jaw were not set to an aching clench, it might have hit the floor. Noah in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs sets loose a geyser of lust within me. I think he is lecturing me about hypothermia and clothes drying faster, but the words barely register. All I know is that I am awestruck and nodding without realizing what I have just given consent to until it is too late.

  Noah’s hands slide through the opening of my drape and unfasten my jeans. Has he left any space between us? His breath sweeps warm across my cheek. His knuckles brushing my belly jolt me to awareness, and my breath hitches.

  “How did your meeting with Nate go?” he whispers.

  I lift my gaze to meet his much steadier version. Is he trying to distract me by mentioning Colonel Updike? I am unsure distractions will work. My zipper lowering seems to take hours, and nothing else exists outside this situation.

  I clear my throat. “All right, I guess.”

  Noah’s thumbs slide inside the rim of my jeans against my hips. “What did you decide to do?”

  I cannot believe this is happening. “Boots,” I clip out in a rush, clenching my fists to the drape before I let it fall and touch him. “My boots are still on.”

  He kneels, and I take a heavy breath. I stare at the fire that does not crackle and smells strangely like clean water. The flames erupt in a perfect line from the middle of glossy stones. I brace a hand on his cool shoulder as he removes the first boot. The shadows of flame flicker along the hardwood below him but do not fill the room. The house grows steadily darker, especially with no late-day sun shearing the fog outside.

  I need to focus on something other than our positioning. What were we talking about? Colonel Updike? Noah asking what I decided . . . A sudden thought occurs to me and nearly bowls me over. “You knew why the colonel wanted to see me.” This explains why he acted so strangely this afternoon.

  “He filled me in.” He looks up as he works my sodden sock off. “He mentioned how you had only today to decide. Did you?”

  Tearing my gaze away from his, I nod. I still cannot comprehend what I have gotten myself into by choosing to enlist. And what will Noah think? Would he prefer I left so his life would be made simpler?

  Task complete, he stands. A frown weighs down the corners of his mouth. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  Air catches in my throat. He sounds disappointed by the prospect, stirring dormant hope. “No.”

  Every muscle in his face relaxes. “Good. I’m glad.”

  “You are?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “I just thought, after last week . . .”

  His hands return to my hips, where his thumbs dip under my waistband. “I don’t want to talk about last week.”

  He edges the material down. I shimmy my hips to help get the jeans over them. Amber eyes meet mine for a protracted moment before he sinks to his knees. Is he deliberately taking his time? He cups my calf and drags the damp material past one foot. His eyes rise to meet mine and desire builds in them, breathing life into my body.

  I rip my gaze away and stare at the dark shadows flickering on a far wall. Each intake of breath stumbles around my erratic heartbeat. Noah’s hand takes my other calf, and a shudder rocks up my body, both from the shock of his touch on my now sensitive skin and from my building need. My eyelids flutter shut. I understand what is happening and am powerless to stop it.

  The wet jeans have long ago made the sound of being dropped into a heap, yet his hand has not left my calf. His touch caresses up behind my knee, and when his second hand doubles the sensations on my other leg, my head drops back. Heat stirs low in my belly and unfurls into my limbs.

  You cannot let this continue.

  The warning enters my thoughts too late. I am already lowering to my knees, relishing the feel of his palms along the outside of my thighs. Hips. Waist. The heat from the fire is uncomfortable this near to my burned arm, but I am too deeply ensconced in Noah’s gaze to care. His hands leave my skin, and one rises to slide into my hair. His amber eyes dart back and forth, searching mine before lowering his gaze to my lips.

  The pace of my heart increases and I wet my mouth. I bite my bottom lip the second the invitation is out there, because that is what it is. In that one swipe of my tongue, I have practically begged him to kiss me.

  Noah’s chest stills on an intake of breath, and his fingers begin to gather a handful of hair at the nape of my neck. I lean in slow, giving him time to back away. Instead, he catches my gaze and meets me halfway. Our lips lie still against the other’s for the longest moment, as if in disbelief. Then, with a sigh, he pulls my head closer while pressing his mouth harder against mine.

  Heat erupts and flushes my entire body. It is more than lust coursing through my veins. More than need. What I feel is the claim he has on me. How could there ever have been any doubt in my mind that I did not belong solely to him?

  Noah’s shadowed chin is abrasive against my lips and skin. His tongue slides seamlessly into my mouth and I taste a hint of seawater. My reactive groan is no more than a murmur, swallowed by the sensual probing of his tongue. I take his moan, too, reveling in the soft vibration against my skin.

  His weight presses against me until I float backward. He cradles me all the way to the floor. A hand slides between the folds of the drapes, finding and gripping my waist. I release the fabric and arch against him, needing to feel his skin against mine. Needing to fit my shape to his.

  Noah slows the kiss and pulls away to look into my eyes. For the first time since I arrived, his feelings are unguarded, and I know how much he still loves me. I know I have only to say the word and he will be mine again.

  “I thought I was going to lose you today,” he whispers.

  I touch his swollen lips, shaking my head. How has he not realized the truth yet? He never lost me; not
then, and not now. Not ever. I lift my head and take his mouth back.

  A hand sweeps over my collarbone and down the center of my ribs. His fingers catch on an object that I had forgotten about. He pulls back with a jerk and looks down. I follow his gaze to where my wedding ring—my safety net—rests over the tip of his finger. A bucket of ice water would have had the same effect as these diamonds.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, and close my eyes. I do not have the confidence to face him in light of this.

  “You’ll always be on the run, won’t you?” he asks, and the ring hits my chest.

  His weight disappears, and when I open my eyes, I find him sitting near my knees. He has one arm resting on an upturned knee, his focus glued to the wall opposite him. Each breath is deep and measured, expanding his rib cage.

  I sit up and rub my swollen, hot lips. I want so badly to explain that I have no intention of leaving, but maybe he is not wrong. It is not as if I have ever taken the ring off. What-ifs play in the back of my mind every day, and I want to be prepared for anything.

  “Noah—”

  “Don’t.” He cannot look at me as he drags a hand through his hair. “My mistake.”

  Mistake? This single word spears my heart.

  He gets to his feet and picks up our discarded pants. The next minute passes in silence as he hangs them beside our shirts. In the foyer, he is nothing more than a dark shadow, and I wish I could see his expression. Is he angry? Hurt?

  My heart sinks when his shadowed shape lowers and sits against the doorframe leading into the dining room. Not only can he not look at me, but he wants to avoid me. How could I let this happen?

  I pull my legs to my chest and bury every inch of skin I can under the safety of the drape save for my burned arm and head. I rest my chin on my knees and stare into the fire. It is not the same without the scent of burning, popping wood, and thanks to the tension surrounding me like a living thing, the fire does nothing to warm my cold skin.

  I wish I knew what to say to Noah but cannot begin to think what it is he needs to hear. Or maybe it is me who needs to hear something. Anything. Even a single breath to tell me we will get through this.

  When I cannot take it anymore, I stand and shuffle across the room with the drape trailing long behind me. I sit on the opposite side of the doorway from him. One of his legs stretches out in front while his other is tucked up with an elbow resting across the top. He watches me sit and I am grateful at least a little light reaches this far. He does not look angry. Reserved mostly, which is better than I hoped for.

  “Talk to me,” I whisper.

  He stares forward, then drops his chin. “Why don’t you talk to me? When this situation with Burke is over, and you’re free to go, what will you do?”

  “Are you asking if I plan to leave again?”

  He rolls his head around to face me. “Yeah. I need to know.”

  I look away and tighten my grip on the musty smelling drape, shivering in the cool dark. “I almost left today. After Colonel Updike gave me my two options, my first instinct was to run.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Adrienne.” I pause and take a deep breath, unable to believe I am about to say this. “I have made so many mistakes, and leaving last year is the most unforgivable of them all.”

  “Emma—”

  “I will not leave her again,” I cut in, and look at him. “I love her, Noah. More than anything. I would like to be a mother to her, but if you would rather I kept my distance—”

  “You’re her mother. I would never stop you.”

  Relief floods me to the point where tears brim my eyelids. I had not realized how much I needed to hear this validation from him. I want to thank him but do not trust my voice to work. If I nod, the tears will spill over.

  Noah stands and helps me up. Once I am upright in front of him, he tucks my hair behind my ears. “And I would never use the word ‘unforgivable.’”

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “I forgave you the moment you came back.”

  I bite my lip the second my chin trembles, but I am unable to stop tears from rolling down my cheeks this time. I rest my forehead against his chest and his arms surround me in a warm embrace. His heart beats strong and a little fast against my head. He kisses my crown, then leads me back to the fire.

  Wordlessly, we sit, with him tucked close behind me. I nestle against him as he lifts the book from the attic off the floor. He leafs through the pages until he reaches Chapter 1.

  “Emma Woodhouse,” he reads, “handsome, clever, and rich . . .”

  CHAPTER 26

  You must be devastated.”

  Declan smiles tightly at the man interviewing him from off-camera. He casts his gaze to his lap. “Yes. This was the closest we’ve been to rescuing my wife yet.”

  “What are your thoughts regarding the loss of life during the rescue attempt?”

  Declan frowns. “This has been my deepest regret. That the resistance would shoot first and risk the lives of innocent people. My wife is the most important thing to me, but not at the expense of the children aboard that station. Their lives are too precious. But I guess the resistance sees things differently.”

  The camera switches to the interviewer, his expression set with a sympathetic frown. “Absolutely. Absolutely.” He gives Declan a thin smile. “One last question, Mr. Burke. Rumor has it your wife was spending time in the lily community for a reason. Can you share with us what you’ve learned?”

  Declan nods once, then covers his mouth again. He casts his eyes down and away from the camera. After a long moment, he clears his throat and looks up. “They were taking her to see a specialist.”

  “Can you confirm that Mrs. Burke is out of remission?”

  He nods. “Yes. It’s true. This specialist was attempting to treat her for her disease but died in the attack. There’s no way of knowing how much longer Emma can survive without Arthur’s help.”

  • • •

  Colonel Updike perches on the edge of Noah’s desk and laces his fingers over one leg. I have just denied reinstatement as major and left him speechless. I can hardly believe it myself. He even planned to give Major Reid another assignment to thwart any complications. Not that I would not love to see Reid go away, but making me Noah’s XO after everything that happened in San Francisco . . . Well, I think we are both better off not working together for now.

  I cannot tell Colonel Updike any of this, but I have plenty of other reasons, and they happen to be true. “I have no memory of my training, let alone commanding however many men that entails. Besides, we both know this is only so I can stay with my daughter. Pretend I am just starting out. Should not be too hard. I sort of am.”

  He sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “You’re sure?”

  “I am.”

  “Private Wade it is, then. You won’t be in charge of any men, and I’ll talk to Tucker and Reid about keeping you out of combat situations.”

  I stand and extend a hand. “Thank you, Colonel.”

  He gives me a tight yet genuine smile and stands. He cups my hand between both of his. “I wish things could be different.”

  “Me too,” I say, but doubt the things I would change are the same as the ones he would. He wants fighter Emma back. I want to be free of all this and to live somewhere quiet with my family.

  Colonel Updike looks pointedly at my arm. “How are you healing up?”

  I glance down at the white bandage protecting the new skin growing underneath. I spent nearly two full days in the hospital wing with Sonya while she removed the damaged part of my arm and replaced it with new, cloned skin, tissue, and muscle.

  “I am much better, thank you. I am seeing Sonya for my last appointment in an hour.”

  With a nod, he leads me to the exit. “Since Tucker is in meetings all da
y, you’ll have to see Reid for your schedule. Report after your appointment with Dr. Toro.”

  “Yes, sir.” I turn outside the open door. “You are leaving today, yes?”

  “In ten minutes.”

  I feel an unexpected pang of regret and do not know where it comes from. “Maybe when you return, you can tell me why we were on a first-name basis.” Since he last mentioned this in his home, I have wondered why I would feel comfortable enough to call my superior officer by his first name. In addition, he seems to care enough about me to make sure I am safe and happy while maintaining structure within the ranks.

  “I would love to tell you why,” he says. His eyes shine and lift with his smile. “Next time.”

  I enter my room a few minutes later wondering how I should fill the next hour. It is not enough time to do anything useful. Not enough time for a good run, either. I have already showered. Eaten. Everything.

  I would go early for my doctor’s appointment, but no amount of time in the last couple of days has made going to the hospital any easier. In fact, I think the wing has made my nightmares worse.

  In addition to the abyss, I dream I am back in the tank watching Noah and Sonya raise my daughter, shoving their happy life in my face while I pound my fists on the glass. I cannot get out, and he never lets me out, and it is just as frightening now as it was two years ago.

  I eye the stack of books on my bedside table. Noah brought Emma back with us from San Francisco Island—as well as a few other books he thought I would enjoy—and I read a little each night. It is not the same without his soothing voice reciting the lines aloud, but I am enjoying the classic novel despite how my previous incarnation hated them.

  I consider reading while I wait but spy “Emma’s” box beside me. More proof that I never planned to stay. Noah has not confirmed as much, but after the things he said, I know he believes I will jump at the chance to leave. It is no wonder he has kept his distance from me since we returned. He wants to protect his heart, and nothing I say will change things. Maybe my actions will.

  Other than to rifle through the clothes, I have not dug deeper into the personal belongings yet. I could at the very least utilize my currently empty dresser. Pulling things out to wear, washing them, and then returning them to the box seems a ridiculous thing to continue.