His hand dipped down and his fingers pressed against her, Tate’s pounding pace never letting up as Lyla came apart under him, shattering into a million pieces and spinning out into the night.
He followed her moments later, his usual filthy commentary silenced, for once. Tate only collapsed beside her, speechless and spent and breathing hard.
Lyla’s pulse hammered in her veins, a staccato drumbeat calling his name.
“There is no one as amazing as you,” he whispered softly. Tate pressed his lips to the side of her neck and held them there for a long time before he finally rolled away and padded into the bathroom.
Lyla ducked in once he returned, tying her hair up and showering quickly, then brushing her teeth and slathering on a little moisturizer.
Sternly, she stared herself down in the mirror. She had to stop wishing for more than this was.
Tate was incredible—strong and steady, sweet and fun. However, despite the yearning washing through her, she was not allowed to keep him.
He had to go back to his real life, and his real job. Tate wanted that more than he wanted anything else, including her. If Lyla cared about him at all, she had to let him go.
Which meant absolutely no talking about feelings. She could enjoy what he was willing to give her now, and if she had half a brain, she would. But she could not tell Tate that she was falling head over heels for him, she could not use the L-word, and she could not tell him she hoped he’d stay.
Lyla especially couldn’t say that she wouldn’t be sorry if he never got cleared for active duty again. Tate would never forgive her for that.
She nodded to herself and tried hard to believe this was the right thing to do, even if the resolution sat like a stone in her chest.
Back in the room, Tate had fallen into an exhausted slumber in the short time that she’d been gone. Lyla crawled under the covers and curled up facing him, watching his eyelids twitch while he dreamed.
LYLA LURCHED SUDDENLY awake sometime later, when Tate bolted upright with an ungodly howl, chest heaving. Damn. Another nightmare.
“Tate?”
He shook his head fast and mumbled, “Don’t.”
Lyla scooted closer and tried to put her arm around him. Tate shied away, but not before she realized he was sitting there trembling, drenched in a cold sweat.
“Oh my God, Tate—you’re soaked. Was it that bad?”
“Sorry,” he muttered sullenly. His breath was still coming fast, like he’d just sprinted a mile in his sleep.
“Don’t be sorry,” Lyla told him. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck, no.”
Tentatively, Lyla put a hand on his clammy shoulder and tried to gently kiss his cheek.
Tate turned suddenly at the last minute, devouring her mouth in a sudden, livid tangling of tongues. When Lyla tried to pull back, he nipped at her lip, a shade too hard to be comfortable.
He watched her blink and rub at her mouth, then stared contritely down at his hands.
“Tate, how can I help?” Lyla asked him.
“You can’t.”
“Okay. Then I—”
He cut her off with a scornful grunt. “You think any of this helps? Because it doesn’t, Lyla. None of this is helping at all.” He clutched his head in his hands.
Lyla couldn’t help it—resolve or not, that hurt. But Tate wasn’t done.
“How could this help?” he wanted to know, throwing his hands wide and narrowly missing her. “Even if, by some strange miracle, the Army decides to let me go back, I’m still going to be a wreck. Don’t you get it? It will just be for a different reason now. I’m going to be freaking out every fucking minute, wondering if you’re in danger—not knowing if some nutjob has gotten to you and is hurting you, without me here.”
Lyla tried to keep calm in the face of Tate’s bitter anger, but it was hard. He was intimidating like this, but at least his concern for her was coming through loud and clear.
“So, you dreamed about me,” she said. Lyla paused, but he didn’t deny it. “Tate…I care a lot about you, as well. And it’ll be okay. We can keep in touch with each other. I’ll be worried about whether you’re doing alright, too, and whether—”
“Lyla, stop. Worry is not what I’m talking about. Worry is what you do when you can’t remember where you left your fucking house keys!”
Lyla got out of the bed, pulled some clothes off the floor, and got dressed unsteadily. “I realize that you’re upset, but please stop yelling at me. I’m not the enemy.”
“Given what you’re doing to me, I’m not so sure that’s true,” Tate muttered darkly.
Lyla gaped at him. “Wow. Okay. Thanks for that.” Tears pricked at her eyes, and she swiped quickly at them before they could shame her and start falling.
Tate blinked and looked abashed. He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, then got up, too, peeling off his sodden shirt and yanking on a pair of gym shorts before he faced off with her again.
“Okay, wait,” he grumbled. “I didn’t mean it like that. I…I’m sorry.” He seemed a little disoriented.
“Are you sure about that? Because I’m not convinced. What’s gotten into you, anyway?”
She wondered if she ought to call someone for him, or if this episode would pass quickly. In the dead of night, after such a sudden wake-up, it was hard to think straight.
Tate swung away, clenching and unclenching his fists and breathing hard. “I’m just…so…God damn it. What the hell am I going to do, Lyla?”
Lyla had no idea how Tate would react if she got too close. It set off an ache in her chest to stay where she was and not go to comfort him, but she did it anyway.
He’d never forgive himself if he lashed out and she got caught in the crossfire, even accidentally.
“Tate, just out of curiosity,” she wondered quietly, “When was the last time you checked in with one of those therapists?”
He wheeled on her with a look of utter betrayal. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“But maybe they can help. Talk through what you’re feeling right now, and…”
Tate turned to the bed and punched a pillow so fast it surprised a ridiculous, high-pitched squeak out of her. Lyla swallowed the rest of her sentence and backed farther away.
“What’s that for?” Tate demanded, eyeing her. “You can’t possibly think I would ever lay a hand on you. I’m here to protect you!”
“It doesn’t feel like that, at the moment.”
Tate glared at her and Lyla stared right back, until all the air abruptly went out of him and he deflated like a popped balloon.
With shaking hands, he felt beside him for the edge of the bed and sank down. “Jesus, Slick. I’m…” he swallowed thickly, “I’m really sorry. All of that was totally uncalled for. I don’t know why I’m being so…Please don’t be afraid.”
Lyla admitted, “I’m scared for you, not of you. And honestly, I think it’s a good idea that we’re scrapping the book tour and heading home. This whole thing has not been good for you—it’s not what you should be doing during your recovery.”
“Lyla,” Tate said forlornly, “Right now, it’s all I have.”
“That’s not even kind of true.”
“But we can still finish the tour. I swear this won’t happen again. I don’t know what got into me, but I promise I won’t—”
Lyla shook her head. “Wayne already emailed me. We’re done with the Trident events. The only thing left is…no. Never mind. I’ll do it some other time.”
“No, tell me. What?”
“I thought we might stop by my parents’ on the way back. But you’re not up to that.”
“I am,” Tate insisted. “I will be on my best behavior. Cross my heart.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make it neat.
Lyla knew this was probably her only bargaining chip, but she still felt a little bad laying it down.
She looked at Tate as levelly as she could, and said, “Call your therapist first.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll consider it, if you call your therapist and talk to them about all of this, first thing in the morning.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then we’ll meet with Red as soon as we get back, so you can resign.”
He gaped at her. “You’re firing me?”
“No,” Lyla explained, “You are acknowledging that you made a mistake when you agreed to act as my bodyguard, and you are taking yourself off the job.”
“No. I’m no quitter. I’m going to see this through. You need me to see this through.”
“Great. Then call your doctor as soon as their office opens.”
Tate’s mouth opened and closed as he sat blinking at her. When it seemed like he could make his voice work again, he told her, “Lyla, you’ve got goosebumps. Here, get back under the covers before you freeze.”
“With you? I don’t think so,” she scoffed. As much as she wanted to hold Tate and be held by him, that was not going to be productive right now.
He looked wounded by her refusal. “It’s okay. You take the bed. I’ll just go in the other room.”
Lyla thought about that. She’d never be able to get back to sleep now, anyway, no matter how hard she tried. “Actually,” she told Tate, “You can stew in here while you make your decision. I’m going to go out there and try to get some work done.”
Lyla was going to have to mask her stupid wish that Tate would leave the military by putting some distance between them. His retirement would give them the chance to have more, after all—but if Lyla ever told him that’s what she wanted, she might really screw things up for good.
“At least take the blanket with you.”
“I’ll turn down the A/C. I’ll be fine.” As she rounded the bed and headed for the sitting area of their suite, Lyla peeked at Tate’s face.
He looked miserable, but underneath that was the budding seed of tenacity she’d been hoping to draw out. Lyla hadn’t been sure if it would show up as stubbornness or resolve, but so far, it seemed like she might have won this battle.
God, she hoped so. She might have to resign herself to losing Tate—but that didn’t mean it had to happen today.
BY EIGHT O’CLOCK the next morning, Tate was murmuring quietly on his cell phone in the bedroom, and Lyla was nearly wilting from gratitude that he’d chosen to stay on as her bodyguard.
When he leaned against the doorjamb a full two hours later, he had dark circles under his eyes and his face was drawn—but he seemed lighter somehow. Unburdened.
That impression was confirmed when Tate gave her a sheepish little smile and simply said, “Thank you for pointing me in the right direction.”
“Do you feel any better?”
“I do.”
Lyla cocked her head and gave him a once-over. He looked as depleted as she felt. “Well enough to meet my crazy parents later?”
He snorted, “Are you kidding? Parents love me.”
“Mine can be…special.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Give it time.”
Tate waved her off. “I’m done in the bathroom if you want to get in there. I also ordered you one of those yogurt and granola things you like from room service. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect, thanks.” Lyla shut down her computer and tried to crack her back.
Tate had turned to slip back into the bedroom, so she called out, “Hey Tate?”
He popped his head around the corner. “Yeah?”
“We’re good, okay? You don’t have to make anything up to me. I want you to know that.”
“I appreciate that. I’m…I feel bad about last night, though. You shouldn’t have had to deal with me in that condition.”
“And yet, I survived. And look—so did you. So let’s not give it more weight than it deserves.”
He came closer and toyed with a piece of her hair. “I meant what I said, you know. They really broke the mold with you, Slick. You are one of a kind.”
Lyla blinked back a sudden rush of tears. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Oh, it is.” Tate pecked her on the nose and then on the lips. “Now let’s get moving. I’ve got some parents to charm the socks off later, and I have to formulate my plan of attack. You can’t just walk into these things cold—you’ve got to train. Prepare. Be primed and ready.”
Lyla shook her head, but she still got up and followed Tate into the other room.
“There is no preparing for my parents,” she told him.
“Shows what you know. Leave this to a professional.”
Lyla groaned. Tate would learn—sadly, it would probably be the hard way.
WHEN THEY LEFT the hotel a couple of hours later, Lyla cast one last look over her shoulder at the room, unsure if she was feeling sad or relieved that her book tour—and her time with Tate—was soon drawing to a close.
He’d left the room as meticulously tidy as he always did, but today it seemed to underline the finality of things. Lyla may have gotten a reprieve, but it was only a temporary one. Tate would still leave eventually.
She wanted something more with him—something deeper. He did not, though. Tate still had too many major things to figure out in his life before he could commit to another person long term, supposing he even wanted to.
That didn’t make it any less disappointing, however. Tate might try to sell Lyla the whole one-in-a-million line, but she knew for a fact she’d never meet another man like him again.
Right man, wrong time. Didn’t it just figure.
TWENTY-THREE
ABOUT THREE-QUARTERS OF the way to Lyla’s parents’ house, Tate’s cell phone began chiming with Red’s assigned ringtone—a deep reverberating gong.
Tate took a moment to appreciate how inspired that choice had been, and then put it on speakerphone.
“Hey, dude. You’re on speaker. What’s up?”
“Where are you two right now?”
“On Route 17. Just passed somewhere called Scotchtown,” Tate told him.
“Where the hell is that?”
“Maybe three hours from Elmira,” Lyla chimed in. “We’re going to swing by my parents’ place in Rye on the way back to the city.”
Red was quiet for a minute. “So you checked out around…what? Eleven?”
Tate shared a quick glance with Lyla and said, “Yeah. Why?”
His buddy let out a long, pained sigh. “I don’t suppose either of you had a raging party before you left?”
Another confused look passed between them—last night had been anything but a party. But their argument, if you could call it that, had also not been particularly loud, and Tate doubted anyone but the two of them was even aware it had happened.
“Red, spit it out,” Tate barked, all the fine hairs on the back of his neck raising in warning.
“Look, guys—Trident got a call from the hotel about half an hour ago. Apparently, someone got in and trashed the suite you stayed in after you left. Housekeeping found it when they went in to clean.”
“Are you serious?” Lyla squeaked. Tate did a double-take—her voice was way too high to be normal, but he could hardly blame her for freaking out.
“As a heart attack. We figured it wasn’t you, and we explained to them what’s been going on. But…by the time they called us, there wasn’t a lot anyone could do. The scene was basically destroyed. They said housekeeping scrubbed up whatever they could and threw out the rest.”
“Has anyone called the cops?” Tate wondered.
“Yes, but I’m not sure why we bothered. From what I hear, the only thing left is what they could pull from the trash and the hotel’s list of chargeable damages.”
“We…the room was pristine when we left,” Lyla said, almost to herself.
Tate put a hand on her leg and squeezed. At least they’d gotten out of there before something worse had happened.
“I’m sure,” his buddy reassured her. “Unfortunately, there’s no way
for us to prove it now.”
“Well, how much are they charging you? I’ll reimburse you for it.”
Red laughed. “No need. We took care of it.”
“But you shouldn’t have to—” Lyla began.
He cut in, “Lyla, it’s done. Just go have a nice visit with your parents and check in with me when you guys get back to town.”
She looked over at Tate, concern etched into every feature. Tate gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod, then asked his friend, “You need anything from me?”
“Check your email, but otherwise no. I’ll give you a call tonight.”
“Roger that.”
“Listen, Lyla,” Red said, his voice dripping with authority. “I don’t want you to worry. The important thing is that you both are safe, and the officers are looking into it.”
If Red could see the expression on Lyla’s face, he’d know how little she believed him, and it would drive him absolutely crazy. Tate knew the feeling.
“Thanks,” she replied weakly. Tate tapped his phone and cut off the call.
“Tate, how?” she cried, as soon as he’d hung up. “How does this person always know where we are?”
“I have no fucking idea.” He was furious at the lack of progress he’d made in figuring this out. He had no ideas. None.
“Is there anyone at all that you’ve spoken to?” Tate asked her. “Anyone?”
Lyla shook her head. “No one.”
“Look at the call list on your phone. Maybe there’s someone you’re forgetting.”
She pulled it out of her purse and began scrolling. “No, really. The only people here are you, Red, some people in Trident’s PR department, and my parents. There’s literally no one else.”
Shit. That wasn’t helpful.
“I don’t get it, Slick,” Tate admitted. “I just don’t get it.”
“What about you?” Lyla wondered. “Who have you talked to?”
“Red and Luca are the only ones. I talked to the Med Board doctors, Tank, and the therapist, too—but I never said a word about where we were.”
The Hero Was Handsome (Triple Threat Book 3) Page 21