Chapter Twenty #2
“It was real.” His tone was grim, and his hand tightened on her waist. “After a while you get used to it, to looking at everyone
to see if they have a weapon, then not being in combat is what feels weird as hell.” He fell silent, as if he’d revealed more
than he meant to, or perhaps his own words had taken him back.
What he’d said had skimmed the surface of what he’d seen and done, of what he’d lived through. She couldn’t imagine combat—and
then realized that yes, after today, she certainly did have an idea of it.
They stood there in silence for several minutes, each of them lost in the overlap of their shared moment and their private
thoughts, watching the fire, nestling together.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked.
She jerked in his grip, electrified by the words. “Back there,” she said, indicating the short hallway to the left, past the
kitchen. “At the end of the hallway, on the right.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Taking the flashlight, he disappeared down the hall. Sela stood there by the fireplace, flabbergasted. Why would he not want
her to go with him? Curiosity got the better of her and she started to follow, only to have him exit her bedroom by the time
she reached the hall. He was carrying her mattress, covers and all. She could barely flip the thing, and while he wrestled
with the size of the mattress, maneuvering it out the bedroom door and through the hall, the weight didn’t seem to bother
him.
Automatically she took the flashlight from him so he had both hands free. “What—?”
“It’s warmer in here than it is back there.”
That was the truth. As the weather had turned colder, she’d begun warming a towel in front of the fireplace, then hurrying
to bed and wrapping it around her feet before it cooled. She imagined as winter came on the towel alone wouldn’t be enough,
and she’d turn to the old-time method of heating a rock in the fireplace and wrapping the towel around the rock, then putting
it under the covers at the foot of the bed. The alternative was sleeping on the couch, closer to the fireplace.
“Push the coffee table back,” he said as he carried the mattress past her.
Or to stay warm she could move the bed into the great room, she thought, and almost laughed at his practical solution to the
problem. She dragged the coffee table to the side, shoved the couch back a couple of feet. He positioned the mattress on the
floor in front of the fireplace, and she retrieved the pillows from where he’d left them in the bedroom. When she returned
he’d repositioned the couch so it was flush with the mattress. To lean back against, she thought, recognizing immediately
what he was doing.
They both removed their boots and sat down on the mattress with their backs against the couch, using the pillows for support.
Either it was surprisingly comfortable, or just being with him made everything feel better. He put his arm around her shoulders
and she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest where she could feel the strong, steady beat of
his heart.
She was filled with wonder that she felt so easy with him. When she’d been dating Adam, she’d been uncertain and self-conscious
for months, wondering if she was doing or saying things that would turn him off. With Ben, the excitement and sheer pleasure
of touching him, and being touched by him, seemed to override her insecurities. Once he’d kissed her, things had changed.
It wasn’t just that his arousal had been so evident, but that the power of his hunger had been, too. He wanted her, the woman,
but he also wanted her, the person, and that made all the difference in the world.
He rubbed his chin against her hair. “I’ve never been married.”
Interesting. His masculinity was such a magnet to women, she was surprised he was a bachelor. She hadn’t thought he’d always
been such a loner, but perhaps he had been. She tilted her head against his shoulder to look up at him, to marvel at the way
the firelight played across the hard planes of his face. “Why not? Carol doesn’t call you Hot Buns for no reason.”
He made a sound that was half snort, half laugh, and it warmed her all the way through. “I thought I was Stud Muffin.”
“She has a whole list of names. I think she has some cougar in her.”
“Yeah, I should probably check for claw marks.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face, then was gone. “I was in the military—I
was a Marine, and I deployed overseas on several tours. When I was stateside things just never worked out. A lot of women
like dating the uniform, but the reality of having a relationship with someone who’s on the other side of the world half the
time—it’s more than they wanted to deal with. I didn’t mind. There wasn’t anyone I particularly cared about.”
“What about after you left the military?”
He didn’t move, but she felt the inner withdrawal and knew she’d bumped against his emotional wall. “No one?” she prompted,
not willing to let him stall with his thoughts.
“No.” A few beats later he glanced at her. “At all.” He cleared his throat. “I should probably apologize in advance, because—I’d
intended to take some pressure off before we got in bed together, but things happened and I don’t want to wait any longer.”
She’d been so focused on keeping him talking that it took a few seconds for his meaning to sink in. Her reaction pinged in
several directions at once: astonishment, laughter, profound gratitude that he’d even thought of such a thing. Warmth flooded
her and she turned into him, lifting her arm to wrap it around his neck and hug him closer. “I—well. It’s been a while for
me, too. Since my divorce, almost five years ago.”
She felt him tilt his head to look down at her. “Why’d you dump him?”
“I didn’t,” she admitted, kind of amazed that he’d immediately come to the opposite conclusion. “He dumped me.”
He drew back, frowned at her. “What is he, brain-damaged?”
Part of her wanted to put the most flattering spin on it, say that she and Adam had wanted different things—which they had—but
the past couple of days had been kind of a trial by fire, and if Ben wanted to leave because she wasn’t what he wanted then
better she learned that now. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since the divorce was final so he might be by now, but no,
when we divorced he had full brain function. I was never enough for him.” There. It was said, and she didn’t feel mortified. If anything, she . . . yes, she felt a little angry—not a lot,
because Adam didn’t really matter any longer. “He wanted to do exciting things, interesting things, and I was always too chicken.”
“These exciting things—what were they?”
“Not all that exciting. Snow skiing. Travel to Africa, South America. Parasailing, scuba diving. I know they don’t sound that
dangerous, but it all made me so uneasy I just couldn’t do it.” She sighed.
“You didn’t trust him.”
“I—what?” Confused, she tilted her head back to look up at him, her brows knitted.
“I’ve done a lot of stuff, shit that can get you killed. It’s either desperation that gets you through because your life is
in danger, or it’s trust in your team to have your back. You didn’t trust him to look after you the way you’d look after him.
What was this shit’s name, anyway?”
“Adam.” She’d never thought of Adam as a shit. On the other hand, she’d also never looked at their relationship from the viewpoint
of whether or not he’d have her back if she was in danger. If she’d gone scuba diving and something happened to her air tanks,
would Adam have shared his air with her if he’d noticed she was having problems? The last was a big “if,” because he’d never
been sensitive to her wants or needs, if she felt ill, if she was tired. She hoped he’d have shared his air, but that was
a hope, not a certainty.
“Adam Gordon?”
“No, I took back my maiden name.” She could hear the water boiling in the pot, and got up to remove it from the fireplace,
using the poker to drag it out. The next few minutes were taken up with making the hot chocolate, then settling back with
the warm cups in their hands. As always, it was deeply satisfying to be drinking hot chocolate while the snow was falling,
as if some primal need was being met. Sitting so close beside him, in front of the fire, satisfied another deep need. Sexual
anticipation sizzled on the back burner, waiting to be brought to a full boil, but for now this slow approach suited her.
As much as she wanted him, she also wanted to talk to him, learn the details of what made him unique.
“I’ve always felt like such a coward.” She sipped her hot chocolate and stared at the fire. “Some people charge at life, but
I guess I’m a background sort of person.”
He snorted. “Yeah, the background sort of person who offered to sleep with me to get what she wanted, and who held off a group
of men shooting at her.”
She was glad the firelight wouldn’t show her face getting red, but she kind of gave it away by hiding her face against his
shoulder. The getting shot at—as she’d said, that was unreal, and already at a distance. Offering to sleep with him was much
more immediate and personal.
He set his hot chocolate down and stroked his hand up and down her back. “About that. Make sure this is what you want, that
you know I don’t look at it as a deal. We can still wait, but—damn it all to fucking hell and back, you got yourself shot at.” His tone turned savage. “You don’t ever do that again, you hear? I aged twenty years getting down that damn mountain.”
Something had to be wrong with her, because she didn’t think anyone had ever said anything sweeter to her. She cuddled closer.
“I promise I’ll try to never get shot at again.”
He put his other hand on her throat, used his thumb to tilt her chin up, and pressed a warm kiss on her mouth. The kiss quickly
turned hot and deep, his tongue moving against hers, his hand sliding from her throat back to clench in her hair. Her fingers
slipped on the cup of hot chocolate and hastily she steadied the cup. With a low, rough chuckle he lifted his mouth. “Don’t
spill it.”