To Love and Protect

by Lindsay McKenna

  Shutting his eyes, Niall felt a sharp stab of grief at the loss of his son. The pain was so real that he lifted his hand and pressed it hard against his chest. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be alive in this raw moment. Hanging his head, body bowed forward, he couldn't say anything. All he could do was grapple with the old, unresolved grief over his son's death.

  Sniffing, Brie angrily wiped her eyes and looked out at the endless ocean. "You just stood there, helpless, by the bedside. I had wrapped my arms around myself. I was in so much pain, physically and emotionally, that I couldn't speak. And all you could do was stand there, staring down at me like I was some bug under a microscope. You couldn't even step forward, slide your arms around me and hold me." Her voice cracked. "All I needed from you, Niall, was to be held. Was that too much to ask? Don't bother answering. Obviously, it was."

  Lifting his head, he stared at Brie. Tears were rolling down her taut, pale cheeks. She was shivering, her teeth chattering again. She was holding herself just as she had in the hospital bed, her arms wrapped around herself. The devastation in her eyes tore at him as nothing else ever had.

  "I wanted to hold you, Brie. But I stood there not knowing how to fix the tragedy, for you...or me. I couldn't believe our son was gone. I mean.. .it was the sixth month of your pregnancy. And everything was fine. Fine! We'd just seen your doctor, seen the ultrasound that showed us you were carrying our..." Tears jammed into his eyes. "Damn...this is so hard to talk about, Brie."

  "Maybe because we never did in the first place," she answered bitterly. How cold she was! Brie's teeth kept chattering and there was nothing she could do to stop them. The look on Niall's face stunned her. He was remalning open and accessible to her. The old Niall would have run. Brie reminded herself that he had nowhere to run now—not in the middle of an ocean. No, he was stuck here with her whether he liked it or not.

  "You're right," Niall admitted hoarsely, "we never talked after...after it happened."

  "After I lost the baby."

  "Yes...that..."

  "See? Even now you can't touch the subject, Niall. You walk around it. Why can't you say the word baby or my son or, God forbid, use the name we'd chosen for him—Killian?"

  Frozen with anguish, Niall tried to speak. The words came out broken, as if torn directly from his heart. Lifting his head, he stared at Brie. "Because...because it hurts too much, that's why. If I...if I do, I'll cry." His mouth worked as he tried to suppress the barrage of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I've never cried so much in my life as that day. I—I didn't know what sobs were. I didn't know what those gut-wrenching sounds were all about until they came tearing out of me... After I left you I went out in the exit stairwell and sat down. I was reeling. I was crying for the loss...for you, for me...."

  In shock, Brie stared at him. Wincing, she could only sit there and hold his wavering gray gaze shot with anguish and grief. "Y-you...cried?" She'd never seen it. "I never saw you cry. Not once after it happened."

  "I figured my crying in front of you would be just one more brick on your load, Brie," he said, all the anger going out of him. "You were lying there, devastated. How badly I wanted to reach out to you, run my fingers over your hair and tell you it was going to be all right. But I knew it wasn't. It never would be, from that moment on. I knew how I was feeling about the loss of our...baby...and I couldn't even begin to imagine how you felt. I was shell-shocked, so numb. I kept trying to figure out how to fix things...and I couldn't...."

  "Oh, hell," Brie cried softly, and she pressed her hands to her face and leaned forward in a ball of agony.

  Niall sat there, dumbfounded. He heard Brie's sobs. Saw her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. What should he do? What could he do? There was nothing he could do to fix this, either. The hurtful words they'd thrown at one another like flaming spears had landed directly in their hearts. There was no dodging the ser-rating truth. His heart told him to reach out, slide his arm around her and hold her. Just hold her. His head said no, that she wouldn't want that from him now— after all this time. Would she?

  Chapter 4

  Brie couldn't stem the tears. During all these years that had passed since the death of their son, she had thought Niall had never shed one tear. Now, as her own hot tears leaked through her fingers, she realized he wasn't as cold-hearted as she'd imagined him to be. Consumed with new grief, she ached on a level that had never been touched before. He had cared. He had loved their child as much as she had. Why were men so damned uncommunicative? Why hadn't Niall shared his grief with her? Why?

  Sniffing, she rubbed her eyes and blinked back the rest of her tears. Around them, the ocean was almost glassy smooth. Brie knew they had to be drifting toward the center of the hurricane's eye for that to occur. Above, a dulcet blue sky shone in stark contrast to the bank of white-and-gray clouds on the horizon.

  As she lifted her lashes, which were beaded with the last of her tears, she saw Niall sitting with his head hung, his hands clasped in a death grip between his thighs. The suffering in his face tore at her. Swallowing hard, Brie asked in a choked tone, "Why didn't you tell me this at the time? Why couldn't you come clean with your feelings? I thought all these years you didn't care what happened."

  Feeling wretched, he winced at the rawness in her husky tone. Unable to look at Brie, who had a helluva lot more courage in the emotional department than he ever had, he stared down hard at his clasped hands.

  "I...don't know, Brie. When I got to the hospital and saw how devastated you were..." He shook his head mutely.

  "I felt so guilty," Brie confided hollowly. "You stood looking at me like it was my fault." Shrugging painfully, she whispered, "Maybe it was. I don't know. I've asked myself that question so many times since then. Was it the stress of my SAR duty? Before the miscarriage, I'd had a week of search and rescues the likes I've never seen before or since." She gave Mm a sad look. "Maybe it was stress induced?"

  "Don't take on that kind of guilt, Brie," he growled. "I did a lot of research after that, and miscarriages usually happen because the baby is malformed. The body knows it. Your body sensed there was something wrong, so it aborted the baby naturally. That's all there is to this. You didn't do anything 'wrong.'"

  Staring at him as the raft bobbed gently from side to side, Brie felt some of her grief assuaged. "You did research? "

  "Yeah." Niall sighed. He gave her a quick glance. Her hair was slightly curled from the high humidity, and it softened the angularity of her cheekbones. It was her eyes that Niall found mesmerizing. Even though they were red from crying, they were that incredible turquoise-blue, the pupils huge and black. Erie's eyes were literally a window through which he saw what she was feeling. And right now he didn't quite believe his own eyes. Maybe he was making it up. Her gaze was warm, burning with a sunny, golden hope. Opening his hands, he added huskily, "I was so shocked by what had happened. You know me, Brie— when things are emotionally traumatic, I go into this clipped, cold, hard mental construct so I can think clearly and get things done in an orderly fashion. You were in no shape to think about a funeral. Someone had to think through the hurt, the loss...."

  Clearing her throat, she said, "Yes, you did do that before you left..."

  "I was there with you at the funeral, too," he reminded her, his tone filled with hurt. "I didn't just run off and leave you after the miscarriage, Brie. I was there for you the best I could be at the time." Opening his hands in a helpless gesture, he said, "I was there for a week—to be with you, to handle the paperwork and legal stuff—before I volunteered for that black ops."

  She sat back and rolled her eyes. "And from my perspective, you seemed so cold, inaccessible, like a robot on automatic. I wanted to talk to you. I need to talk when something bad happens, Niall. When I do, it's like opening an abscess. It cleans me out, allows me to heal."

  "I was so overwhelmed emotionally, I couldn't hear you. Not then," he admitted slowly. Niall shifted around so that his back was resting against the rim of the raft,
his feet near her right hip. Watching as she wiped her face again, he felt an ache filling him. How badly he wanted Brie. How badly he wanted to simply hold her against him and have her hold him in return. The last two years had made him feel like he was the only human left alive in a desert that had no end. He had no desire to strike up a relationship with another woman. It was as if he were a monk gone into a monastery. Maybe he was still grieving for the loss of Brie, the loss of their marriage, which had been so good before the loss of their baby son.

  "We need to start drinking some of our water to stay hydrated," Niall told her. He took his bottle from the net closure on the right side of his vest, opened it and took a swig. Wiping his mouth, he capped it. Looking around the raft, he saw there were still some puddles in the bottom.

  "You're right...." Brie took a drink from her own bottle, then twisted the cap back in place and settled it into the net casing on her vest. Inwardly, she felt less angry, less uncomfortable with Niall. They were beginning to talk about things that had never been broached, but should have been a long time ago.

  "If we don't get rescued by the time we drift through this eye, we're gonna have to try and collect rainwater from the raft bottom."

  "When the waves get high, they're going to splash into the raft and dilute any rainwater with salt, so it won't be drinkable," Brie noted unhappily.

  Looking around at the quiet, soothing sea, now a deep marine blue, Niall said, "You're right. But we'll get the rain first before we start hitting high waves. We'll refill our bottles, and keep drinking from the bottom of this thing until that time."

  Moving her stiff, cramped legs slowly, Brie murmured, "I'm cold. I can feel the warmth of the breeze, but I'm still freezing." She wrapped her arms around herself and began to rub her body energetically to produce more heat.

  "You probably took a lot of water into the neck of your weather suit when we egressed," Niall said worriedly. He saw Brie trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

  "How about you? Did you take in a lot of sea-water?"

  Shaking his head, he said, "No, I didn't. I'm a little damp in the shoulder and chest, but basically, I'm dry."

  "Good," Brie said, relieved. "I'm soaked head to toe."

  That wasn't good, but Niall said nothing. Trying to shelve his worry, he said, "You want some help warming up? A long time ago, I was pretty good at massaging you."

  Her mouth softened and she held his gaze. His gray eyes were large now, the pupils black and filled with warmth—toward her. Niall was offering to help her. With his touch... Inwardly, Brie groaned. She loved his touch; it was strong and yet incredibly gentle. Always, Brie had looked forward to Niall holding her. Often, after twenty-four hours of SAR duty, she'd come home to their apartment near the Coast Guard base where they were assigned in Port Angeles, Washington, and he would fill a tub full of hot water for her.

  After she'd had a long, delicious soak to ease muscles tight from the stressful duty, he'd bring in a soft, thick towel and dry her. The best part for her was when he'd pick her up, carry her to their bed and lay her down, then slather her back and shoulders with fragrant, sensual almond oil. Oh, how Brie looked forward to those massages Niall gave her. Her stress would dissolve beneath the magic of his coaxing, knowing fingers. He knew how to chase away the tautness in her shoulders, tease away the tightness along her spine, and in no time, Brie would fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. Niall would then cover her and allow her to float in that healing darkness.

  Mouth dry now, Brie said, "You sure you want to?" She saw his eyes glimmer and instantly recognized that look for what it was: desire—for her. How was that possible? Their marriage had exploded on them. The loss of their baby had torn them apart and they'd split up like two feathers at the mercy of the winds.

  Brie longed for Niall's knowing touch more than she dared let herself acknowledge. When she saw his full mouth curve at the corners, a wild, spontaneous heat plunged from her heart to the center of her body. She recognized it for what it was, too, and it stunned her. The coals that glowed within her were those of yearning for Niall—all of him.

  "Sure I want to do it," he told her. "You're my copilot. I don't want anything to happen to you that I can help prevent. You're going hypothermic, Brie, and maybe I can help you stop losing body heat."

  Her heart plummeted. Oh. That was it. Niall was being a good pilot in command. She was his copilot, and therefore responsible for her. Trying to wrestle with her sudden disappointment, she muttered, "Sure...I can use all the help I can get. We don't know when or if we'll be picked up." And that worried her a lot. The hurricane was gathering force. Before they'd left, there were reports that it could be a level five, the most powerful and devastating type. A storm of that size would make a rescue difficult, maybe even impossible. They could potentially drift for days, maybe a week or more. Or worse, they could be deluged by a monster wave and drowned at sea. No, their lives were not guaranteed, Brie knew.

  Moving slowly to his knees, Niall gave her a slight grin. "Don't look so worried, Brie. I'm not going to bite you." He wrapped his hands around her right arm, near the shoulder, and began to gently knead and massage her muscles. Hearing her groan with pleasure, he watched as she leaned back, her head pillowed against the side of the raft, her lashes closed.

  "That feels so good..." she murmured gratefully. Brie had no idea how tense she was until Niall applied gentle but firm pressure to her arms, hands and cold, damp fingers.

  Concerned, Niall saw that her fingertips were almost bluish in color. That meant she had hypothermia. Quelling his worry, he carefully stroked her long, slender fingers. Just touching Brie was such a pleasure. Looking up, he studied her face—her closed eyes, her lips parted with a soft, beckoning smile. The urge to reach out, to stroke her pale cheek, was nearly his undoing. Frowning, he ordered himself to stick to what was necessary. He'd lied moments before when he'd told her he'd only offered to help because she was his copilot. If Brie really knew how he felt, she'd have rebuffed him for sure.

  It was noon by Niall's watch. Worriedly, he watched as Brie continued to sleep. Since he'd massaged her arms and legs, she'd fallen into a deep, healing slumber, rocked by the gentle movements of the raft. Her lips, still possessing that pomegranate-red color even without lipstick, were slightly parted and still calling to him, begging him to caress and then crush them beneath his hungry, exploring mouth. But Niall would never awaken her, no matter how strong his desire. He realized Brie needed this sleep because of the trauma they'd survived last night in that hellish crash.

  Rubbing the tense muscles at the back of his neck, he felt the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He was hungry in more ways than one. Right now, he was starving emotionally for Brie, the conciliation of souls that had begun between them. In a million years, Niall would never have thought their coming together again would have produced this...whatever it was. He was careful not to label what was occurring. But with that special warmth growing between them once more, it was almost like old times—before they had lost the baby. He had seen that look she gave him when he'd touched her arm earlier. Yes, there was gratitude in her eyes, but something else lingered there as well— something heated that Niall did not want to name.

  Oh, it was a special hell, he admitted as he opened up a side pocket on his flight suit and pulled out a protein bar. Touching Brie earlier was like a dream come true after the nightmare of the past two years. She was just as rounded and soft as he remembered. Maybe more so, now. As he sat mere, quietly peeling the wrapper from the bar, he admitted to himself that he'd savored every stroke, every touch of her flesh. Brie hadn't stiffened or pulled away when he'd touched her. Just the opposite. Niall had seen such relief in her face, such joy deep in her turquoise eyes, that it had made his heart pound with happiness.

  As he sat there munching on the bar, and enjoying every morsel of the grains that would feed his growling stomach, Niall had the undiluted pleasure of watching the woman he'd once loved with all his heart and soul, sleep th
e sleep of angels. In slumber, Brie looked defenseless. She seemed so at peace. The realization that they had both been grieving, suffering terribly after their loss, struck him deeply. Why hadn't he cried in front of Brie? Why hadn't he held her as she cried in that hospital bed? What the hell had he been thinking?

  Scowling, Niall finished off the tasty protein bar and tucked the wrapper back into the long, large pocket on his left thigh. God knew, he'd wanted to go to Brie and hold her. To this day, he could hear the awful, tearing sounds coming from her contorted lips that day in the hospital. And he'd stood there like an idiot, frozen, feeling utterly helpless with the need to fix something that was unfixable.

  With a sigh, Niall snuggled down into the raft, his body nearly touching Erie's. He had to sleep. There was no telling how long conditions would remain calm. The eye of a hurricane was usually around fifty miles in diameter. In the distance, black, thunderous-looking cumulus clouds gathered, warning him they'd probably hit the wall of the storm tonight. And then they'd be back in the same hell they'd known last night. This time, they really might drown. One of those waves might catch and flip them. So many things could happen—all of them potentially bad.

  Feeling the urgency of wanting to survive, Niall quietly stretched out in the bottom of the raft, using the inflated portion as a pillow for his head. The gentle rocking motion soon spiraled him into sleep.

  "We need to eat," Niall told Brie shortly after she had awakened. Dusk was upon them. That threatening wall of cloud was closer. Though Niall had tried to keep thoughts of the burgeoning danger at bay, he no longer could. Within the next four hours, they would once again be at the whim and mercy of the hurricane's strength and rage.