Chapter 1 #2
“The whole beauty-is-pain thing never worked for me,” she drawled.
“You a Texan?” he asked while occupying the chair next to her, but he repositioned it to face her instead of the fire. He worked with a lot of Teamguys from the Lone Star State, so the accent was fairly familiar.
“Dallas. Born and raised.” She offered her hand. “Natasha.”
He reached for her palm. “Wyatt.” He cleared his throat when she’d yet to retract her hand, but he wasn’t in a hurry to let go either. “You still live there?”
“Virginia now. D.C. border.”
“You in politics?” He didn’t get that vibe from her, but then again, aside from getting a read on her Texas roots, he couldn’t figure much else out about her.
“I work at the State Department,” she answered. “Telecommunications specialist.” She slipped her palm free of his, her gaze moving to the flickering flames.
Most people he’d met in that role at the State Department were actually CIA officers. Surely, she wasn’t, but he couldn’t help but joke, “Ah, so you’re with The Company?”
“You’re a comedian, huh?” Her eyes landed on his.
He waved a finger at her with a slight nod and continued to tease, “Yeah, I can see it now. You work at Langley.” He brought his forearm to the wide plank chair arm and made a play of taking a long look left, then right. “Here on official business?” he asked in a low voice. “You undercover now?”
She leaned closer and whispered, “Not tonight, but I do have a gun strapped to the inside of my thigh in case Dale tried to run on Clara.” Her brows knitted as she said in a serious voice, playing along with the charade, “But you got me, I’m most definitely a CIA agent.”
He settled back in his seat and let go of the chair arm. “Well, that confirms it.” He kept his eyes on her, his mood much better than it had been earlier. “You’re not really in the CIA.”
She pressed a palm to her chest, feigning surprise and indignation. “And what gave me up?”
“No spook would call themselves an agent. CIA officers recruit foreign nationals to be agents.” Why am I talking about this? He was off his game. Damn those five months without sex. Plus, well, the setting was most likely messing with his head. Ex-wife’s wedding and all.
Her lower lip trembled as if fighting a chuckle.
He glanced in the direction of the banquet room, realizing he’d left his drink at the bar. Of course, he wouldn’t need alcohol to get through the night now that he’d met Natasha. “So, how do you know the bride and groom?”
Her hands went to her lap, and she played with the jersey fabric of her dress. “You’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.”
“I doubt that.”
She looked up at him. “Remember my ex-fiancé?”
“Brother’s best friend?” Wyatt nodded.
Her chest lifted and fell from a deep breath. “Well, he just married Clara.”
If he’d been drinking, he would’ve spit the whiskey right out. “That’s rubbish. Dale and your brother may have been best friends, but why didn’t your dad kill him?”
She shrugged. “Dad loves Dale like a son.”
“And you’re his daughter.” Maybe they were both a little crazy to be there? “So, why’d you come, then?”
“I’ve known Dale for forever. Family friends. How could I not come?”
“You really were half-expecting he’d run tonight, weren’t you?” And if Dale had jetted off on Clara, Wyatt would’ve broken his legs.
“Dale never looked at me the way he looks at Clara, so no.” She waved a dismissive hand as if trying to block out memories from her past. “But um, what’s your story? I’m betting you’re friends with the bride since I’ve never seen you before.”
He gripped the wooden chair arms since it was his turn for a dose of the truth. “The bride’s my ex-wife.”
There was no sense of shock on her face at his answer. She actually responded with a laid-back, “We’re a pair, huh?”
He peered at her, and her long lashes fluttered before her green eyes connected with his. “Looks that way.”
She tipped her head to the side, observing him with curiosity in her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” And maybe he’d be able to answer. It was a coin toss.
“How long have you two been divorced?”
He didn’t talk about Clara with anyone. Failing was unacceptable, and no matter how much distance he put between him and his father, he couldn’t get the man’s voice out of his head.
The nagging You always disappoint me ringing in his ears like the sound of that damn BUD/S bell whenever one of his brothers bowed out.
Failing in his marriage had made his father’s voice louder. More high-pitched.
And when Wyatt had to roll back at BUD/S to finish with the next class, it’d nearly been his undoing.
He’d managed to convince himself the sole culprits had been pneumonia and a shoulder injury and had nothing to do with the fact Clara had dropped the big divorce bomb on him right before indoctrination.
But the jaws of disappointment had sunk into him deep just the same.
“Legally, back in oh-seven. But we separated in the fall of oh-five shortly after I officially became a citizen.”
Her mouth rounded in surprise. “You didn’t marry for citizenship . . . did you?” She covered her face for a brief moment before her hand dropped to her lap as if embarrassed. “For all I know your parents moved here when you were younger. Sorry to assume.”
“No worries.” He’d gotten the marriage-citizenship question a lot, and eventually, he began giving off the same short answer: Moved to the U.S.
for marriage and became a citizen. Not exactly the truth, but it worked, and most people didn’t know the rules for citizenship so they didn’t question him.
He preferred to keep his past out of sight and out of mind.
Unlike the Navy, he couldn’t get a SEAL contract until he became a citizen, and part of him would always wonder if Clara had waited to separate until his citizenship processed, knowing how important being a Teamguy had been to him.
“I chose school in San Diego instead of London much to my parents’ dismay.
” More disappointment from them that’d led to the fight of the century with his father.
“I met Clara the summer before I started uni, and Clara and I married a few months later right before she deployed.” When was the last time he’d actually told the truth, and to a stranger no less?
“So, she was already a Marine stationed at Pendleton at the time?”
“Yeah.”
Clara was four years older and so different from the women he’d dated in London. Part of the appeal.
“What made you join the Navy, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“When I was a kid I’d thought about joining the Royal Navy in the U.K.
, so I guess I always had the desire to serve.
” He scratched at the column of his throat, still trying to digest the fact he was opening up.
“I dropped out of San Diego after Nine Eleven and joined the Navy. As long as you’re on a path to citizenship, you can serve. ”
Her gaze lingered on the fire and then cut his way a moment later. “Well, Clara does seem nice.”
“She’s a good person.”
Her mouth tightened briefly before she whispered, “So is Dale.” One shoulder lifted and fell. “Just not the right people for us, huh?”
He swallowed. “Right.”
“You, um, seeing anyone now?” She pointed to his left hand. “These days, most men I know don’t wear a ring, so it’s hard to ID a married guy anymore.”
“Is this your way of asking if I’m available?” If it hadn’t been forever and a day since he’d had sex, maybe he could’ve suppressed the cocky grin on his face.
“Maybe.”
“And if I’m available?” he asked.
“Then I’ll ask you to dance with me.”
“Out here?”
“Better than inside, right?” She shifted the skirt of her dress out of the way to stand. “So, are you forever single like me, or totally attached?” The playfulness in her tone had returned, replacing any hints of somberness that would’ve taken a K9 to sniff out.
“Forever single.” He stood and reached for her hand, and she gasped when he yanked her into his arms and held her to his chest, nearly forgetting the glass walls of the reception area off to his left. Forgetting his ex was now happily remarried.
She braced his biceps and stared into his eyes as he held on to her. They only moved side to side, but it suited him just fine.
He reached between them and cupped her chin, unable to stop himself. Gorgeous was the tip of the iceberg. His gut told him there was a hell of a lot more beneath the surface, too.
“I love this singer, but not-so-great memories come with his music,” she whispered like a confession.
“Oh?”
“The song I’m Yours by Jason Mraz was my ring tone for Dale when we were together. I was twenty-two, what can I say?”
His hand moved to her cheek and damned if he didn’t want to lean in and taste the gloss of her lips, to let his tongue ease into her mouth—to give her a new memory to go with the music.
“Well, at least it’s not that song playing now.” He didn’t think it was, at least. He wasn’t too knowledgeable of the current beats. Most of the guys on base usually listened to more old-school tunes.
Her bottom lip rolled between her teeth, her nerves slipping to the surface. He wasn’t so sure if it was the talk of her ex or the moment they were sharing that had her pulse fluttering at the side of her neck and her pupils dilating.
“You know, I can’t tell if your eyes are blue or gray,” she said after the DJ switched to a faster-tempo song.
They kept slowly swaying side to side anyway.
As long as he was holding her, it didn’t matter what kind of steps they took.
“Out here, they’re sort of a slate blue, like the color of my dress, but inside they looked gray. ”
“DMV couldn’t decide either,” he said in all seriousness, unable to pull his eyes away from her.
They continued to dance for another ten minutes or so without saying anything, and it was bloody perfect.
“You really want to kiss me, don’t you?” Her lips crooked at the edges, and a dimple popped in her left cheek.
“You have no idea how much,” he admitted, his voice husky, “but—”