by CJ Daly
“Am okay.” I fought a yawn. “Just need sleep.”
“Here . . .” He repositioned us to a more comfortable position: his back
resting against the tree, my back resting against his chest, his arms wrapped
around me. I could have stayed like that forever; my problems seemed to
vanish right along with my senses. “Better?”
Vague nodding and a deep breath in were my only replies. We rested like
this a couple of minutes, listening to the chirping birds and the leaves rustling
together in the trees. The feel of his heart beating rhythmically into my back,
and his hands leisurely caressing my arms were soul soothing.
“You down for the count?” he asked, catching a tickling strand of hair
blowing across my face and smoothing it back into place.
“Almost.” I smiled a bit, eyes still closed. “I think I could quite possibly fall asleep right here.”
“Why don’t you?”
I huffed out a tired little laugh and sat up. “Uh . . . because we have class
in half an hour.”
“So?”
“So we have to get back.”
“Why?”
I twisted around to read his expression. “Cause that’s what we’re supposed
to do.”
“Says who?” he challenged.
“The people in charge.”
• 192 •
“Do you always do what the people in charge tell you to do?”
“Yes,” I automatically answered but realized it wasn’t true anymore. I’d
been doing the exact opposite of what the people in charge were telling me: hiding paperwork, interfering with the mentoring, going to lunch with the
mentor I was instructed to stay away from, throwing out the window almost
every promise I’d made to Mama . . . except for the most important one:
protecting my brothers.
“Well, most of the time anyway,” I amended.
“Why?” He seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
“Cause I guess that’s what I was taught to do—obey your mother and
father, respect your elders and all that. Why? Don’t you?”
“What if you knew your parents were wrong or your elders are not
exactly . . . respectable, would you then still obey them?” It seemed like a loaded question.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno.”
“That’s a cop-out, Kate, and you know it.” His tone was really tense now,
like his body, and his eyes had hardened, towards whom or what I wasn’t sure.
A vision of Ranger popped in my head. I remembered the obvious
animosity between the two cadets. At the time, I chalked it up to male
competition—both guys trying to be the lion. Now that I thought about it,
maybe Ranger was his superior? And Pete didn’t much feel like his inferior or
like getting bossed by him. After all, didn’t Ranger say he couldn’t make the
“mission” too easy for him?
A ripple of understanding energized me because I felt like I’d instinctually
hit on why I didn’t feel as threatened by Pete, even though he was an
ambassador for the enemy, as I did Ranger and his academy in general. Pete
was here under duress and direct orders. I was sure of it. And I got the feeling
now that he didn’t much like the orders he was taking from them, but was
forced to obey. Like I was forced to obey my father’s crazy rules . . . We were
both at the mercy of those in charge, and the ones in charge weren’t ones we
respected. It was a maddening position to be in, which would explain the
anger I felt emanating from him now.
“Fine,” I re-answered. “Then in that case, you should not obey orders you
know in your heart is wrong.”
“What if doing so negatively affects, not only yourself, but everyone
around you?”
“Then do what I always do . . . go with your gut.”
Pete stared deeply into my eyes, searching, before looking off into the
distance. I suddenly knew just how he felt about keeping my eyes from him.
• 193 •
There were some squabbling birds in the trees above us, debating about whether or not we had any food to offer, and a couple of weary moms had
brought their kids to the playground. Their animated voices rang out sharp
and free, harmonious with the breezy afternoon. We were quiet now, separated
by our individual worries and internal struggles.
His gaze returned, open with a dash of mirth. “Just go with your gut, huh?”
I felt like the Cadet Davenport mask was going to slip back into place
any moment so decided to throw caution to the wind before both our guards
were back up. Leaning up, I cradled his head in my hands. “Pete,” I said in the
voice I reserved for my loved-ones, “I’m gonna tell you somethin’ my mother
used to tell me when I wasn’t sure what to do . . .”
He slow-blinked his eyes, which were curious and speculating.
I continued with an intensity that allowed no false pretenses between
us. “Never let your sense of duty get in the way of doin’ what you know is
right”—I placed a palm over his heart—“in here.”
He closed his eyes against me and dropped his head back against the
tree. A crease formed between his brows that I longed to smooth away. It
reminded me of how he looked that day at the diner—resigned. When his
eyes clicked back open, mine were waiting, shining back with sympathy and
understanding. I stared until flinty eyes softened back into the warm pools I
was accustomed to seeing reflected back at me. Then, giving in to the urge,
my fingers fluttered to his face. I traced the blue-fading-to-violet patch over
his left eye (which was either the exact right or wrong thing to do, depending on which way you wanted to look at it).
I was aware of his decision before he even moved. As if in tacit
understanding of my knees giving way, he reached for me. My breath caught.
Eyes never leaving mine, he slid his hand beneath my head to lay me out
before him on the blanket. Dozing butterflies in my stomach just woke up.
Pete stared down on me for an immeasurable moment—still debating.
Unable to take the intensity another second, I closed my eyes, my lips
parting expectantly. But, once again, he deprived me. I huffed out some
frustration and opened my eyes . . . to witness the slow curving of his lips.
Something about that knowing smile uncurled something within me.
Whatever it was had the elite cadet breaking rank, because he advanced
forward. His lips feather-brushed mine before trailing up to my ear, where he
slowly exhaled out his sweet scent. I shivered and wound my arms around his
neck to draw him closer. I did this as naturally as if I’d been doing it every
day of the week instead of for the very first time in my life.
His journey—mapping my skin with his lips—continued south, bypassing
• 194 •
my lips again to slide over the sensitive region of my neck. There he discovered the cross, nestled in the hollow of my throat, and paused to lift his lips in an
ironic smile . He traced the sacred shape with his fingertips before moving along the line of the chain. My breaths became heavy, my arms pulling him
down impatiently. He stopped me short to just hover over me.
“Kate,” he breathed, a husky whisper. “What am I going to do with you?”
I was kind of wondering the
same thing, but my body seemed to be the
one with all the answers. It was still trying to close the fraction of distance
still left between us, impatient for the fusing of our lips and our hips. This
was something I’d never experienced in real life before, but felt as familiar to
me as breathing—that need to push myself against him, to feel the contours
of his muscular body meld into the feminine softness of mine.
Pete was still propped up on his elbows, keeping his weight off me, but
I could feel his breath quicken, see his eyes transform into molten lava as
he regarded me. It was suddenly more than I could take—this need, the
anticipation, the chemistry cooking between us on a slow burn. Things didn’t
seem to be heating up as rapidly as my body wanted, so I made an involuntary
impatient sound in the back of my throat, sure that if he didn’t kiss me in that
instant I’d start to cry. Telltale moisture gathered in my eyes.
Finally, finally! he released me from my purgatory. Closing his eyes in
surrender—at long last—he brought his lips to mine. God in heaven, I’d never
felt such a powerful force on earth as I did in that moment. His warm lips
molded to mine in a lingering lip lock before parting them, firm and insistent.
And it was like I’d never been kissed before. This is heaven. Yet I still wanted more. Grasping him across his back, I yanked him to me, and oh— yes!—he
finally collapsed his weight on me. I moaned in pure ecstasy.
His apparent expertise and my relative noviceness were irrelevant, because
a better match was unimaginable. It was pure bliss for the senses: his taste,
his smell, his feel. My hands ran along the muscles of his back, pressing him
farther into me, like I could make one thing out of two. His hands were also
busy: one pushing into the thickness of my hair, the other sliding along the
contours of my waist. Our mouths melted together, moving in an enticing
synchronicity that made me greedy for more, more, more! I moaned again,
and his answering groan was music to my ears. My hands wound through
his hair, clutching him to me. That’s about the point he withdrew his lips to
breathe out my name.
Why’s he stopping?
“No,” I whimpered.
He half-heartedly tried to get up, but I held him down in a vice-like grip,
• 195 •
desperate for more of this smooth, sensuous feeling. We began passionately kissing again, his wandering mouth quickly forgotten and forgiven. My hips
arched up, urging him on. I didn’t even stop to think about stopping. I felt
like I was beginning to be lifted off the earth. A warm, melty feeling starting
in places I’d only imagined at. I literally felt like I was on drugs—high on
Pete Davenport and drifting away on a cloud of pure bliss.
Finally, Pete was able to snap out of it. He wrenched his lips from mine.
I immediately protested again, trying to pull him back. But he held my head
firmly between his palms, leaning off me now. “Kate . . . look at me,” he
commanded in a low growl.
“No,” I protested, not wanting to be brought back down to earth with
a crash. No, no, no, no, no! I wanted to cry like a baby. Aggravation heaved from my throat. Then, resigned, I slowly opened my eyes like a good girl. I
could see Pete’s glorious face was also flushed, his breathing ragged, and he
was sweaty . . . in a good way.
I reached up to wipe a bead of perspiration from his temple, brushing back
his hair from his forehead. His eyes flamed into two smoldering embers of
desire. He barked out a short, humorless laugh, and my own mouth quirked
up. He closed his eyes, getting control over himself I presumed, because when
he reopened them, the fires were put out.
“Sweet Jesus!” He rolled off me and sat up, drawing up his knees and in
a deep breath.
I frowned at that, hating to think of him taking the Lord’s name in vain.
But in this instance, I could see how it was fitting. A feeling this rapturous
had to come straight from God, right? I brushed back another lock of his hair, smiling lazily up at him feeling punch-drunk and starry-eyed.
“Would you please, Kate, in the name of God, please quit looking at me
like that?” he said, rather unkindly, too, I thought under the circumstances.
He slid farther away from me.
“Like what?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the hurt from my voice.
“Like you want me to ravage your body.”
I huffed out a single chuckle. “Well, I hate to say . . . but that might be
pretty accurate.” I shrugged carelessly.
He snorted. “I swear you can actually smell the pheromones in the air.”
I smiled at that—our chemistry was undeniable.
Pete seemed really preoccupied, and my body was still trying to come
down from its high, so we sat like that for a bit, faces flushed and chests
heaving. When I looked at him, I expected camaraderie, but instead, I saw
his face harden in a way that made me feel brittle.
• 196 •
Could he be mad?
Unthinking, I placed a hand on his back. To my utter horror, he flinched
back like I’d scorched him with a curling iron. I snatched my hand back.
“Kate, really. I mean it . . . just don’t,” he said in the clipped tone usually
reserved for Ashley-Leigh.
What have I done to make him look like that? I searched his face for answers, found nothing but rigid anger. I fingered my lip to keep it from trembling,
and he scowled at me. Winding around to face the playground, I tried to get
control of my emotions, which had also just done a swift one-eighty.
I heard him swear under his breath. “Not right,” he murmured, but I
heard him loud and clear. Felt like my tender heart just got trampled on; it
actually ached in my chest. How could kissing him be “not right” in his book
when it was a blockbuster New York Times bestseller to me? How could I be
so far off the mark here when he was talking about pheromones in the air? I
thought about it a bit more while he was busy not talking to me.
Was he talking about me and my pheromones? Like I was so obviously hot
for him he could smell it coming off me? Could this be a one-sided deal, and
he only kissed me because I practically begged him too? Again. He did try to stop, but I forced him to continue on.
Oh my God! — I was the aggressor here. Suddenly, I had the urge to crawl under a rock. Was busy feeling like the country floozy Ranger took me for
when Pete finally spoke: “Kate?” His voice sounded better, but I wasn’t about
to turn around, sure I was covered head-to-toe in a stinky layer of humiliation.
He put a hand on my shoulder, which I hastened to shrug off. How dare
he touch me now!
“Kate, please. I’m sorry. Look—” He took my arm, as if to turn me
around. “Let me explain.”
“Don’t touch me!” Tears, I didn’t want him to see, were pooling in my
eyes.He chuckled a little, trying his hand at levity. “That’s what you should’ve said two minutes ago.”
It was the wrong move, making light of this. A hand, that I smacked away
angrily, tried to turn me again. “Stop! Gah! What’s wrong with you?”
Pete sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. In a low, reasonable
vo
ice he said, “If you’ll turn around, I’ll tell you.”
Everything was ruined now . . . shoulda known heaven-on-earth wouldn’t
happen for me. Liquid outrage began burning trails down my face.
“Kate,” Pete said tenderly, “are you crying?”
“No.” I furiously swiped them away.
• 197 •
He swore a low oath then forcefully picked me up to face him, holding me in place by my arms.
“What? ” I glared through tears.
Pete sighed again, his eyes the dark pools of chocolate that always seem
to melt my heart. “I don’t know what to say . . . I’m sorry.” He wiped a couple
of drops away with his thumb.
“Sorry? Sorry for what?”
“Sorry that I hurt your feelings for one—that’s the last thing I wanted to
do.” He wiped another hot drop from the other side now.
I sniffed a little, staring at him with wounded eyes. He did look like he
felt sorry . . . sorry for me. He took my face and kissed me on the cheek, like a father does a child that’s fallen down and gotten a boo-boo. Somehow, this
hurt my feelings all over again. Did he just not see me in that way at all? Duh.
Obviously, Kate— he’s majorly out of my league. Gah! How could I have been so stupid? I was swallow-me-up-mortified and could not have this conversation right now. Or ever.
I scrambled away from him and got to my feet, not wanting to be where I
wasn’t wanted. “You know what? It’s fine,” I said, brushing imaginary debris
from my jeans. “I-I don’t know what got into me. I’m really tired . . . and
under a lot of stress.” I glared down at him, so he’d exactly know where that stress was coming from. “So let’s just pretend it never happened.”
A strange assortment of emotions flitted across Pete’s face before finally
settling on his old standby. He grinned and came up with: “Still friends?”
Stiff nod from me.
He stood up, too, putting a hand out. “Well alrighty then, buddy . . .
shake on it?” I was loathe to shake his hand at the moment but wanted to
attempt to be mature so shoved my hand into his, barely meeting his eyes. He
grasped it and pulled me into him, catching me by surprise and off balance,
so that I fell into his hug. “Hey, I’m a hugger remember?”
He may as well have been hugging a statue for all the effort I put into it.
He looked down at me frowning, though wisely remained silent. I stepped