by Zoe Dawson
Needing to make him look at her, to acknowledge her, she caught his face and turned his head, her vision so blurred she could barely see. “Don’t, Ford,” she whispered unevenly. “You don’t need to hold back. Just let me hold you.”
He stared at her, his face set like stone, not even a glimmer of response in his red-rimmed eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt as disconnected from him as she had that terrible day things had gotten out of control, and it terrified her. Despair washing through her, she touched his mouth, her tears spilling over. “I’m so sorry, Ford,” she whispered brokenly. “So sorry.”
Something flickered in his eyes, as if he understood what she was really saying, and Solace touched his mouth again, her fingers trembling. “I’m going to be here for you no matter what.” The message she hoped was clear. She hadn’t been there for him in the past, but that was changing right now.
Fast Lane stared at her for an instant longer, then he shut his eyes in an expression of immense torment, and Solace closed her eyes against a wrenching surge of emotion as his arms came around her in a desperate, crushing embrace. Holding on to him with every ounce of strength she had, she roughly turned her face against his neck and choked back a sob. She waited for the awful ache in her throat to ease, then she hugged him, the tears falling freely. “They’ll be okay. I know it. They have to be.”
Caving in around her, Fast Lane tightened his hold and tucked his head against hers, and she felt him finally let go. Experiencing such a wealth of anguish for him, she cradled his head against her, giving him what comfort she could, her relief nearly as wrenching as his grief. He had let her in, and right then, that was all that mattered.
11
It took a long time for the terrible tension to ease in him, but time didn’t matter to Solace. She continued to hold him, her fingers splayed wide at the back of his head, so thankful for the small respite that little else registered.
He wiped his face against the rough fabric of her jacket, and she reluctantly eased her hold, kissing his temple as she gently smoothed his hair. Releasing a ragged sigh, he lifted his head and loosened his hold. For one awful moment, she thought he was going to turn away without even looking at her, but then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, and Solace could feel him trying to pull himself together. She cupped the back of his neck, gently stroking him, and he released another unsteady sigh and shifted his hold. She heard him swallow, then he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes so bleak and tormented that it was all she could do to keep from responding. He held her gaze for an instant; then he shifted his attention and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said simply, his voice unsteady.
Her throat suddenly tight, she smoothed her hand across his ravaged face. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Ford,” she chastised softly. “And never with me.”
He started to speak, then he abruptly looked away, and she could see the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. Her eyes burning, she lowered her head, grabbed a towel, and started to dry his shoulders, her fingers trembling so badly she could barely manage the task.
Shifting his hold, Fast Lane caught her along the jaw and tried to raise her head, but she resisted, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. He rubbed her chin with his thumb, his voice very husky, very soft when he said, “What are you doing, Solace?”
She shook her head, needing time for the cramp in her throat to pass. He covered her hands, holding them still against his damp, bare chest. “Would you lie down with me?”
Her throat cramped again, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against his, struggling against the swell of emotion. He was still bleeding, and his knuckles were a mess. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned her hand under his and clasped his wrist. Reaching deep for some control, she lifted her head. “I came to take care of you,” she whispered. “Let me take care of you.”
He tried to turn away, but Solace saw how hard he was fighting to keep from losing it again, and she refused to let him go. Struggling with her emotions, she drew his head down against her shoulder, and he exhaled roughly and tightened his arms around her. She waited until she felt him ground himself, then she gently eased away and took his hand in hers.
She drew him to the sink. There was a first aid kit on the shelf, and it looked like he was going to attend to his own wounds.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said gruffly.
Experiencing a growing pressure in her throat, she shook her head.
“Ah, babe,” he said, his voice quiet.
Blinking rapidly to will away the burning in her eyes, she waited for the moment to pass; then she looked up at him. There was a solemn intensity in his expression, something that made her heart accelerate, and the muscles along his jaw tensed. He stared at her, his gaze darkening, and the muscles in his throat contracted.
“I saved your ass out there. I’m going to do this, and you can just shut your trap.”
He glanced down at her. The corner of his mouth lifted in a semblance of a smile, but his voice was uneven as he spoke. “Yes, ma’am.” A hint of amusement appeared in his eyes, and his expression relaxed a little.
Feeling as if she’d had a close brush with something sweet and dangerous, Solace held his gaze for a moment, then managed a small smile. She found the bottle of antiseptic—a plastic squeeze bottle with a nozzle—and picked up his hand. She thoroughly irrigated the scrapes. The sudsy liquid turning red as it sluiced through the cuts.
She used a towel to dry his hand, carefully skirting the knuckles. He went very still, and she heard his breathing stop when she dried between his fingers, and Solace closed her eyes again, the wild flutter in her chest robbing her of common sense. It was all she could do to keep from cradling that damaged hand against her breast.
She covered the cuts with antiseptic cream and dressed his knuckles. Then she focused on the bullet graze. She’d seen what he’d been dealing with on the ground, the firepower that had been thrown at him and poor HM, and it was a miracle that he’d only sustained this one shallow hit. She was sure it hurt like hell though. It was still oozing blood but looked clean. Nevertheless, she used some of the antiseptic wash to flood it too.
He jerked when she touched his shoulder, and he said, his voice roughened by strain, “Damn, woman.”
Solace drew a deep breath, reaching down deep for control. Her shoulder brushing against his arm, Solace tore open a sterile pack and blotted the wound, then pressed a fresh dry pad against it to staunch the renewed bleeding. She was keenly aware of how close he was, of the warmth of his arm against hers, the heat from his body making her go weak.
Then she covered it with antiseptic cream and used another pad to cover and protect the wound as it healed, taping it down gently.
He never said a word. He leaned against the wall, his eyes now closed, the dark stubble accentuating the hard set of his jaw. His stillness was haunting until he reached out and curled his hand around her wrist as if he needed an anchor. And that one physical connection created such a load of emotion in her that she could barely breathe.
“Come on.” She walked over to his pack and dug around until she found a pair of shorts. Ford wasn’t a fan of sleeping in much. He said it was too restrictive when he slept.
But when she turned to hand him the garment, he wasn’t there. She found him still in the bathroom where she’d left him, leaning against the wall, his eyes still closed. He was probably mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. Her vision blurring, Solace approached him, her heart hurting for him when she saw he was trembling. Quickly wiping away her tears, she tapped his thick calf, and he lifted his foot. She slid on one side of the boxer briefs, then the other. She pulled them up, her hands running over the taut muscles of his thighs, hips, and waist until they were snug around his midriff.
She pulled off the towel and took his arm. “Come on, tough guy,” she whispered unevenly. “Let’s get you into bed.”
For a momen
t, she thought he wasn’t going to cooperate, then he exhaled unsteadily and straightened. Unselfconsciously, he reached inside the briefs and adjusted his junk. She went hot all over. It was easy to remember what it was like to be with him.
Pushing her arousal away, she pulled him toward his bunk. “Solace…stay with me…please. I need you,” he whispered. She very nearly lost it at those words and locked her jaw against the raw emotion that washed through her. Not once during their marriage had he shown one bit of weakness. He was always so strong and tough. But she’d always wanted his emotional honesty, something she was sure he was hiding from her.
“You can be sure I’m not leaving, Ford.”
That seemed to settle him some. He stretched out on his back, his arm over his eyes, the muscles in his jaw rigid.
There was a knock on the door, and he looked up at her. She was far too aware of the tight lines of pain around his mouth. “Unless it’s urgent, get rid of them. I can’t—"
“I know.”
He needed rest. It was one thing to let her see him like this. He wouldn’t want his team to see him brought so low. She walked to the door and opened it a crack. Saint was standing on the other side. If he was surprised by her presence, he was skilled enough to hide it.
“Hi, Warrant Officer Mitchell. I came by to see how he was doing…to make sure he didn’t need medical attention.”
“I took care of it, Corpsman.”
He nodded, his eyes dark and solemn. “Don’t let him…blame himself. Okay? We’d all still follow him anywhere…into hell.”
Impulsively, she grabbed him around the neck and hugged him hard. “I won’t. I’ll tell him what you said.”
He hugged her back hard. “Thank you…for being here.”
She nodded and he turned away. She closed the door. He was still in the same position when she got back, and he never moved when she took off everything but her tank top and panties and slid into bed beside him. Realizing he was in some kind of shock, she slid her arm under his neck and gently drew his arm away from his eyes. “Let me hold you, Ford,” she pleaded softly.
He didn’t respond for an instant, then he exhaled sharply and turned into her arms. Closing her eyes against a nearly unbearable surge of feeling for him, she cradled his head against her breast and pressed her mouth to the top of his head. Fast Lane shifted and dropped his leg across hers, then pulled her flush against him. Solace swallowed hard and drew the covers over his shoulders, then began slowly rubbing his back. It was as if all he needed to let go was her physical warmth, and he released another ragged sigh and turned his face against her, his beard rough against her skin, and the trembling slowly eased. His weight grew heavy against her, and she thought he had fallen asleep, but he tightened his arm around her and said, his voice thick. “Don’t leave.”
Resting her cheek on the top of his head, she hugged him against her and blinked back the sting in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, sailor,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Solace hadn’t ever been as conscious of him as she was at this moment. His weight against her, the texture of his hair and skin, the imprint of his arm around her, every breath he took. She lay awake long after he fell asleep, absorbing even the smallest detail.
Her confusion about how she felt and why she’d kissed him became so clear. She’d needed to fill up her arms with him. Holding him filled up the emptiness inside her and replenished her soul.
She stared down into his handsome face, the fullness inside her compounding as she watched him. Her chest clogged with a host of feelings; she couldn’t get enough of looking at him. The memory of the loneliness rose up in her with a desolating force.
She remembered loving him.
It had been so easy and so hard.
Wrenched by that thought, she soothed herself with the feel of him, the ache in her throat so tight she could barely breathe.
Now the loneliness was replaced by gratitude to whatever forces had brought them back together.
He slept a totally exhausted sleep, something so vulnerable in his stillness, in the dead weight of him against her, and Solace experienced a kind of protectiveness that he had never allowed. In the past he had been so intractable, so distant and tough…there was no way for her to touch his core.
She drifted off and stirred when she heard the patter of freezing rain on the roof permeating the dusky stillness. He shifted beside her, his beard scraping against her neck as he muttered her name. She knew he wasn’t fully awake, and the sound of her name did unbearable things to her heart. With infinite care, she smoothed back his hair and cradled his head against her, flooded with such tenderness it made her chest hurt. Damn, it had been so empty without him. And so very lonely.
He shifted his head, his breath warm against her neck, then with drowsy languor, he smoothed his hand along her rib cage. Releasing a contented sigh, he slid his arms around her and gathered her in a strong embrace, then said, his voice gruff with sleep, “I’ll be disappointed if you’re a figment of my imagination.”
Easing a breath past the aching fullness in her chest, she gave him a little shake. “Your imagination isn’t this good,” she whispered.
He huffed a soft laugh, then swallowed, and that set off such a swell of emotion inside her that she had to clench her jaw against it. Cupping the side of his face, she tipped her head and pressed a kiss against his forehead. Fast Lane shifted and found her mouth, taking it in a slow, lazy kiss that sent her pulse skittering. Releasing his breath in an unsteady sigh, he tightened his hold on her face and drew away. “The real thing is more than I can handle. I only can think of one thing right now. Making love to you.”
Solace opened her eyes and looked at him, her whole body warming and jumping to attention as she held his steady gaze and tried to smile. “I like where your mind is going.”
She gripped his back while he used his good arm to pull her beneath him, his weight braced on his forearms as he stared down at her with an intensity that felt so familiar and arousing.
“Ask me how long I’ve been waiting for you to touch me again, babe.”
Held transfixed by the intimacy of his touch, she stared at him, her system overloading, her pulse heavy, her heart laboring. Solace stared at him, sure that if he removed his hand, she would fall into a million more pieces.
Smiling slightly, he stroked her bottom lip, his voice softer, huskier, more seductive. “Ask me, fly girl.”
Mesmerized by the look in his eyes, she somehow managed to swallow, her voice so uneven it didn’t sound like her own. “How long?”
Fast Lane slid his fingers along her neck, his touch making her shiver, then he rubbed his thumb against her frantically beating pulse point. “Ever since the second I lost you.”
That admission did unbearable things to her heart, and she closed her eyes against the sudden fullness in her chest.
Fast Lane shifted his hold, taking her face in his hands. “Look at me, babe,” he whispered. “I need you to look at me.”
Feeling as if she was drowning, she opened her eyes, drugged by sensation, paralyzed by his touch. He stared at her, his expression strained. Then he tipped her face up and slowly lowered his head, and Solace made a helpless sound and let her eyes drift shut. Exerting pressure on her jaw, he opened her mouth, then covered it in a wet, deep, searching kiss that drove every ounce of strength out of her body and made her knees buckle.
Pressing his body hard against hers, he drew her between his thighs, working his mouth hungrily against hers, drawing her hips even closer. Solace couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. All she could do was hang on and ride out the thousand sensations exploding in her. Fast Lane caught her by the hips and molded her flush against him, his mouth wide and hot as he ran his hand under her tank top and over her rib cage. He emitted a low sound of approval when he encountered nothing but bare skin, and he slid his hand up her bare torso, cupping her breast, stroking her with his thumb.
His touch drove the breath right out of
her, and she made another helpless sound against his mouth. Fast Lane tightened his arm around her back and dragged his mouth away, his breathing labored. Her heart racing and her pulse thick and heavy, she turned her face against his neck, the warmth of his hand filling her with a heavy weakness.
“Fuck, Solace, you feel so good,” he whispered raggedly, dragging his fingers against her hardened nipple. Her whole body trembling, Solace turned her face tighter against the soft skin of his neck, hanging on to him with a frantic strength, the feel of him against her totally disabling her.
Dragging his hand free of her tank top, he slid it under her hair to cup the back of her neck, holding her even closer. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered unevenly, his touch meant to comfort as he stroked her skin. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hand up her neck, then said, a hint of amusement in his voice, “This damn bunk isn’t meant for two.”
“Who cares. We can make do.”
“I don’t have anything to pro—”
“You don’t need it,” she murmured. She didn’t think she could bear having anything between them tonight, not even that. She tightened her hold. She had an implant, so she was safe.
Fast Lane went very still, then he shuddered and crushed her against him. “Are you sure?”
She caught the back of his head and caressed his scalp. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sure.”
His only response was a long, heavy stroke across her hips. He straddled her and slid both hands up her rib cage and under her top. Drawing a deep breath, he said, his voice gruff, “Lift your arms.”
She complied, her breath jamming in her chest as he stripped the garment from her. His breathing was ragged. His energy changing from tender to rough as he stared down at her, the long, hard length of him pushed insistently against the crux of her thighs.