Chapter 6
chapter
six
Izabel
I didn’t know how my legs managed to scale the stairs. Fueled by adrenaline, I supposed. By anger. I was so, so angry. I entered my bedroom and shut the door. Then I leaned against it, letting gravity take me to the floor as whatever strength I had finally deserted me.
Two fierce and opposing emotions drained the strength from my body.
Elation that Drake was alive.
White-hot fury at his betrayal and what he had done to our marriage.
The agony in my chest bled with the pain of a reopened wound.
And yet guilt ate at me.
The scars on his neck…my fingers wanted to touch them. A part of me that loved my husband wanted to ask what had happened.
But he died , a resentful voice whispered.
Tired of the battle inside me, I pushed up from the floor and called Hank.
My phone rang a few times before he answered. There was no mistaking the hesitation in his voice.
“Izabel.”
“You knew.”
“I knew.”
Silence.
And then, “Is that all you’re going to say?” I choked. “You, of all people, knew how much I suffered.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy,” Hank whispered. “But Drake had no choice. Neither did I. If we broke the agreement with the person who recruited him, I’d lose access to him. And if Drake’s identity was compromised, it would—and still may—put you in immediate danger.”
“Was I in danger?”
“You need to hear the story from him.”
Dread curled in my gut. “Commander Harrelson’s family?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
Weariness tugged on my already-frayed nerves. As a SEAL wife, I understood my husband kept secrets from me, even those that could directly affect me. My reaction to Drake’s return suddenly made sense. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”
“I don’t think Drake’s gonna disappear for another three years.” There was lightness in his tone.
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think I have it in me to be a SEAL wife anymore.” I wanted to move on with a safe guy. The man who’d returned to me was far from the definition of safe.
At Hank’s muffled curse, I continued, “I think?—”
“Izabel,” Hank cut in. “Your husband is in your house. Talk to him.”
There was a finality in his words. He wasn’t going to give me the answers I needed.
“Okay.”
“Good girl.”
“I’m not promising to be reasonable,” I added tartly.
I could almost see Hank’s shit-eating grin on the other end of the line. “Give him hell.”
A burst of laughter broke through the tightness in my chest. I ended the call and stared at the closed door. Beyond it were the answers I sought.
There were three bedrooms in the house. I wished I picked a house with a first-floor bedroom. I had no choice but to put him in the bedroom closest to the stairs. At least he wouldn’t be in the room next to mine. Tough if he expected us to share a bedroom.
After I’d put new sheets on the guest room bed, I still wasn’t ready to face the man downstairs, but I’d stalled enough.
Drake was just coming in from outside when I made my way back to the first floor.
He was carrying a big duffel and his sniper rifle case.
This was familiar. Memories of the many times he’d come home from deployment plundered my mind and heart.
Usually, he left his rifle in his “cage” on base, so I wondered what location he reported to now.
I was too preoccupied reconciling my memories with my present feelings, so I didn’t notice the predatory and determined look that crossed Drake’s face until it was too late. He dropped his duffel and rifle to the floor, jolting me into focus.
Then he moved toward me.
No. He stalked.
He hauled me against him. I yelped.
Brawny arms wrapped around me, squeezed, until my curves were tightly pressed against the hard wall of muscles.
“I. Can. Not. Stand. It,” he growled in my ear. “Three years I’ve dreamed of holding you in my arms.” I tried to push away, but he wasn’t having it. “Give me this, Iza.” His breath feathered my ear, sending a shiver through my spine. “Let me hold you. Even for a few seconds. Please.”
It was the please that did it. I relaxed slightly, stiffly.
“I love you, baby. I never stopped loving you.”
“We need to talk.”
Drake sighed, pulled away, and gave me his eyes. His dark, piercing eyes that seemed to skewer right into my soul. The part of me that was supposed to know him. Our faces almost touching. Our warm breaths mingling.
Excitement raced through me. The kind that was unfamiliar, dangerous, and raw. Though my heart yearned for the tenderness of the husband from my memories, the rest of my body responded at a more primal level. My brain battled with my heart to give myself permission to explore this man before me.
If it weren’t for Drake’s eyes, I would think I’d been sent a clone. A rougher, scarier replica of my husband.
“You look bigger.” I squeezed a bicep. Drake was thickly muscled everywhere. Shoulders, chest, and back. He’d never been a slouch with fitness and always had an athletic build. Now the ridges of his muscles were more defined under his shirt. His face above his beard was leaner, cheekbones sharper.
A slash of white flashed through his face as he grinned. “Three years of celibacy. I needed an outlet.”
I took a step back while heat suffused my cheeks. “Are you saying you haven’t had sex?—”
“Stop right there before you piss me off,” Drake growled. “Unlike you, I knew I was married. I was married to you this whole time. I’d cut off my dick before I’d cheat on you.”
I believed him. Look how long it was taking me to move on.
“And the scars?”
He fingered the area of skin on the left side of his neck. “Are you willing to listen to what happened now?”
“You won’t get into trouble for it?”
Drake shrugged. “My handler knows I’m done keeping secrets from you. But I can’t reveal anything about the ongoing op.”
My brows furrowed. “You’re not done? Are you leaving again?”
He shook his head. “No, and no. The last part of our mission will be done in-country, but I cannot tell you what it is.”
I wasn’t the understanding SEAL wife anymore, nor did I want to return to that. A tendril of anger licked against my calm, reiterating to myself how circumstances had changed.
Drake eyed me warily, but there was something else. Loss. “You don’t believe me.”
My chin came up. “Can you blame me?”
“No.” His shoulders slumped. As if years of exhaustion suddenly came crashing down on him and his next words confirmed that despite the years apart, I was still attuned to my husband’s tells.
“It’s been a long trip,” he muttered. “Do you mind if I shower first and have coffee before we have that talk?”
I hitched my shoulders. “Not at all. I need one myself.”
Our eyes locked, and heat crawled up my face.
“Separately,” I added sharply.
Drake smirked. “Of course.”
Drake
I slammed a palm against the tiles as cum spilled all over my fist. I stroked my cock, milking my release as the spray of the shower washed over me.
When the tremors left me, I blasted the temperature of the water to freezing.
“Fuck,” I grunted, struggling to let my body cool off. I’d expected Izabel’s resistance. I expected a gut-punch rejection. What I didn’t expect was the unleashed primitive force that refused to settle for a hug. It wanted me to throw her on the couch, possess her, and reclaim her.
And as torturous as hugging her was, it was also so fucking sweet.
Feeling her familiar curves against me. She was made for me, dammit.
I wasn’t going to go all caveman and scare her away. Not upon the first meeting. I wasn’t that moronic, so I quenched my thirst for her in the only way I knew how.
How I’d survived without her in the past three years. By jacking off to thoughts of her hour-glass figure. And since I’d always kept tabs on her, her image never faded.
I maneuvered my hulking frame around the tiny space of the hallway bathroom.
Twenty pounds of muscle packed my frame since Izabel last saw me.
I dried my back and turned to look at the burn marks and scarring.
The last thing I needed from Izabel was pity, but there was no way I could hide these scars since they’d become a part of who I’d become.
Wrapping the towel around my hips, I left the bathroom. Izabel’s door was closed. I planned to seduce my wife back to my bed. I could play dirty. I didn’t miss the flare of desire in her eyes when our bodies were smashed together. Her body couldn’t lie.
A warning blared in my head not to muddle our reconciliation with sex. I had to be smart about this and think long term.
Izabel loved me. I could feel it. Trust was the problem.
Looked like courtship wasn’t out of the question.
I was looking forward to it.
I’d been in the kitchen for half an hour when Izabel returned.
Her long black hair was still wet from her shower, soaking part of her vee-neck white tee.
She was blessed from the genetics of her mixed heritage.
A heart-shaped face framed heavily lashed caramel eyes.
Her luminous skin wore the shade between rich cream and light mocha.
Freckles smattered her upturned nose, giving her a wicked cuteness, but her lips were crafted by alluring sin.
My cock stirred as I imagined the times that mouth had wrapped around my shaft.
I should have jerked off three times to take the edge off my long abstinence.
“I dumped out the coffee from this morning and brewed a new pot,” I informed her as she perched on the barstool around the island.
Her brows creased adorably in both a questioning expression and a frown.
I deliberately left off wearing a shirt and wore low-slung drawstring sweatpants.
I rarely wore a top when I was at home because I enjoyed my wife perving playfully over my abs.
On that count, she had not changed as she visibly swallowed.
“I see you’re also making breakfast,” Izabel said dryly. “Please make yourself at home.”
“Oh, I will.” I grinned as she rolled her eyes. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”