The Heart's Command

by Rachel Lee

  "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 the 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.

  Brie's eyes were drowsy looking, and he had the urge to reach out, cup her cheek, and kiss that soft mouth of hers. Niall knew he couldn't do any of those things, so he settled for watching her as she pushed her fingers through her red hair and tried to tame it into place.

  "I feel so much better," Brie told him. Looking up, she drowned in Niall's dark, stormy-looking gray eyes. He was watching her with an intentness that sent her heart skittering with need. Brie realized the raw hunger in his eyes was for her. Even after all this time and tragedy, he wanted her. That made her heart sing with a special joy. Yet as Brie looked up and studied the approaching wall of dark, massive-looking clouds her fear returned—fear of being at the mercy of the storm once more.

  "Better tank up on protein," Niall told her in warning, hooking a thumb toward the darkening sky. "We're going back into hell shortly, and we're going to need our strength to survive it."

  Brie nodded. Her stomach felt tight. She knew she must be hungry, but she couldn't feel it. Maybe because Niall was here. Just his presence made her feel safe. That was silly, of course, Brie admitted as she pulled out two protein bars from her vest. Niall couldn't do anything to protect her from the storm that was stalking them.

  Fear made the bars tasteless to Brie. She saw the worry banked in Niall's eyes as he looked at the sky. The water was becoming choppy now, the waves two to three feet in height. Finishing off the food, Brie took a long drink of water. Above them, thin filaments of clouds were drifting across the hole of blue, like pale shrouds. Darkness was closing in on them again.

  "You slept, too, didn't you?" she asked, tucking the bar wrappers into her vest.

  "Yeah. I got about six hours. You've slept about ten. That's good." Scanning her from head to toe, Niall said, "Your teeth aren't chattering, either. Are you warmer?"

  She smiled a little. "Yes, thanks to you." Following her heart, Brie reached out and slid her hand into his, which lay along his long, powerful thigh. "I've always loved your touch, Niall. You make me feel safe. Like nothing in the world could ever harm me again." Seeing surprise flare in his eyes, and then hunger, Brie squeezed his large-knuckled fingers. When they curved around hers in return, her heart leaped. "Thanks..." she whispered shakily.

  Though he never wanted to let her go, Niall finally released her hand. The unexpected intimacy Brie had shown him sent his heart reeling with giddy hope. Yet his head warned him that she'd abandoned him once before. She'd demanded the divorce shortly after he'd returned from the black ops. Why? Swallowing hard, a frown on his face, Niall studied the approaching storm, then he turned back to Brie.

  "You know our chances, don't you?" he said in a low, strained tone. "We could die out here tonight. We'll be strapped to one another with the life line, of course, and I'll hook the raft to my vest in case we get overturned by a wave. But that doesn't mean we'll survive. The dingy could fall on top of us, and we'd get dragged under and drown."

  Wincing, Brie tucked her lower lip between her teeth. She clasped her hands in her lap. "Yes, I know that."

  "This hurricane's upped the ante," he said, his brows dipping. "It's deepened—probably reaching a five by now. If that's so, no Coast Guard C-130 is going to risk flying through it to try and pick up our radio signals."

  "I know...."

  "That means our only hope—our only chance of surviving—is hanging on and hoping like hell we don't get overturned." After glaring at the clouds, he glanced back at Brie. "And judging from how dog ugly this wall is coming up, I don't know that we will survive it, Brie."

  "I agree."

  Niall stared at her in the dusky light. He saw the terror deep in her eyes, but he also saw her stubbornness and desire to survive, too. "I'm scared," he confessed.

  "So am I, Niall."

  "More scared than I've ever been, if you want the truth." He opened his hands in a frustrated gesture. "And there isn't one damn thing more I can do to fix this situation, either. I feel almost as helpless as I did when we lost our baby, Brie. There was nothing I could do then, either."

  Her heart contracted with sadness. They could die. In fact, they probably would. That knowledge drove Brie to speak her mind. "Right now, Niall, I'd rather be with you in this situation than with anyone else." She saw hope burn momentarily in his eyes, saw his mouth soften as he stared at her in surprise. Brie could hear the roar of the approaching wall now, could feel the raft continue to rock and bounce. The waves were more choppy, with froth on them—a warning of what they'd face in a couple of hours.

  "You're sure about that?" His voice was deep. Filled with question. With hope.

  Nodding, Brie whispered, "Very sure. I want you holding me when we go through that wall. I want to be holding you. If I have to die, Niall, I want it to be in your arms. I'm scared. More scared than I've ever been in my whole life. I—I have an awful feeling we aren't going to make it. I don't want to die...." Brie choked up, pressing her hand against her throat as she stared at him.

  Reaching out, Niall took her other hand and simply held it. Her fingers were cold again. "I feel the same, Brie. About everything you've said. I don't think we're going to survive this. The odds are stacked against us. This hurricane is too powerful..." Turning her hand over gently, he lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He heard Brie's intake of breath. Lifting his lips from her cool flesh, he gazed deeply into her wide blue eyes.

  "We're going to go through hell again in a few hours, sweetheart. I feel like we've been given a second chance to say all the things that we never said when we divorced—the good, the bad of it. I need to say a lot to you, Brie, because if I don't survive this and you do, then I want you to know the truth...."

  Choking back a sob, Brie tightened her fingers around his hand. "Yes, let's use this time wisely. Let's not waste a precious minute of it, Niall. I've got a lot to say, too. I've been so afraid, too. At the hospital and after the funeral, you were so detached from what had happened, so far away from me, and I was hurting so much at the time that I wasn't thinking clearly. I needed you, darling. I needed you so much." Brie closed her eyes and gripped his hand hard. "What I'd have given if you had just taken me in your arms and held me. That's what I needed, Niall—just to be held. Held and told it was okay, that it wasn't my fault I'd lost our baby...."

  Sadness avalanched through him. Holding her hand gently between his, Niall stroked the back of it. "And you looked so brave and self-assured at that time. I thought you were blaming me for the miscarriage. I didn't think you wanted me around. I hadn't been there for the loss...and I thought you were pissed off about that. You acted like you didn't need anyone, Brie. I guess..." his mouth flattened "...I guess I really misread all your signals, didn't I?"

  "Yes," she breathed softly, the pain scalding her heart, "you did. How easy it would have been if you'd just opened up enough to trust me and talk to me about all this, Niall." Brie shook her head. "I've tried to figure out why you're so closed, why you won't communicate. It goes back to you being a latchkey kid, I'm sure. You had no one to go to and ask for help. From the time you were eight years old, you'd come home from school and fix dinner for your mother, do your homework, and be the responsible one, the man of the house. You didn't have anyone to talk with, to tell if you were scared, worried, anxious or happy. I know your mother didn't get home until around 9:00 p.m. on weeknights. And she was tired. That didn't leav
e much time for her to talk with you or vice versa."

  "Yeah, my mother was exhausted when she came home," he admitted quietly. Smoothing his thumb across Brie's cool flesh, Niall added, "I felt bad for her. It was all she could do to sit down at ten o'clock and go over my homework with me. I could see how tired she was. It made me feel bad. I didn't want her to have to work so damned hard. I was angry at my father, who rarely came over. I never saw my stepfather, either. He left her and moved to another state. So I became a clam. I did what I could, but talking wasn't a big thing in my family."

  "And I'm just the opposite of you," Brie said quietly as she looked up and studied the approaching wall of the storm. It looked ever more menacing the closer they got. The urgency to talk before they drifted into it made Brie come clean in a way she had never before. This was going to be the confession of her life to Niall. She realized she had never stopped loving him. And now then: lives, more than likely, would be taken on this approaching night. A bittersweet feeling filled her. It was now or never. Niall needed to know how she felt about him, no matter what the consequences to herself or her misplaced pride.

  Chapter 5

  Niall shifted so he sat in the center of the small raft. He hooked his lifeline to Bile's bright red-orange vest. Automatically, as the wind started to sweep chaotically around them, the froth lifting from the peaks of greenish-gray waves, he checked their radio beacons. Both were working, but he held out no hope that a C-130 was flying through that storm to try and track them down. A hurricane could tear a large plane apart. More than one hurricane-hunter aircraft had disintegrated in just such circumstances. The Coast Guard had patterns of search for each rescue mission. Niall knew that to fly this one would be hellish, the chance of failure high. It wasn't worth risking the lives on board to save their two necks. Such was the cold logic of the military. They had talked about the mere and if he was all right. Niall was sure Morgan was worried about all of them. No one had expected their bird to go down.