Chapter 7
Voodoo wasn’t used to feeling off-balance.
He’d faced challenges that would break most men. Been shot at. Sliced and stabbed. And nearly died more times than he’d like to think about. But the years of disciplined training, etched into his very being, provided a reliable foundation upon which he could always depend.
But here, across a candlelit table in one of the most opulent restaurants he’d ever seen, with Savannah looking back at him like he was something worth remembering . . . it was a different kind of battlefield. Softer. Quieter. More dangerous in all the ways that mattered.
The black sleeveless dress, so simple yet elegant, highlighted her beauty with its clean lines and soft fabric.
Rather than relying on embellishment, the dress, by its very simplicity and the way it clung to her curves, managed to accentuate her beauty to a degree that no amount of elaborate decoration ever could.
His reaction to seeing her when she opened the door was completely unexpected, even to himself.
Sunlight-kissed waves of hair framed her shoulders, and the subtle femininity of her makeup complemented her radiant features. But it was her mouth that drew his attention. The glossy red was so alluring; he’d never wanted to claim a set of lips more.
It had been a struggle to calm his racing heart . . . and his raging dick.
Now, the glow of candlelight danced across Savannah’s face as she laughed softly at something he’d said.
It wasn’t a big laugh, more a breathy exhale, but it lit her up in a way the chandelier overhead couldn’t compete with.
For a second, Sawyer forgot they were in one of the most expensive hotels in Paris and not sitting cross-legged in a treehouse behind his childhood home.
“Hard to believe we’re here,” she murmured, swirling her wine.
“You always wanted to see the world,” he said, watching the way her fingers brushed the edge of her glass. “Just didn’t think I’d be coming along as backup.”
Her smile was almost shy. “Maybe I wanted backup all along.” She took a sip of her wine, her eyes catching on his tattooed forearm exposed from under his rolled sleeve. “I’ve been meaning to ask . . .”
He raised a brow.
“‘Voodoo.’” Her smile was curious, not mocking. “You don’t seem the bone-rattling doll-stabbing type.”
He smirked. “That depends on the mission.”
She gave him a soft laugh and waited.
Voodoo looked out across the glitzy room, letting the memories creep in before speaking. “My first deployment as a SEAL, my team got stranded in a jungle hellhole halfway across the world. Everything that could go wrong . . . did. Communications, supply drop, even the evac plan. It felt cursed.”
She stilled beside him, sensing the shift in his tone.
“One night, I found this pouch in a collapsed shack. It was filled with little charms. Carved tokens, shells, animal teeth, string knots, and the like. Locals used them for protection. I don’t know why, but I handed them out. One to each of my guys. Told ’em they were good luck.”
He paused, jaw tightening.
“Next morning, we found our way out. Right path, right time, right weather. Like the jungle finally let us go.”
Savannah’s voice was low. “So they started calling you Voodoo.”
“Yeah. Figured I’d made some kind of supernatural deal. Truth is . . .” He looked at her then, straight on. “I would’ve done anything to keep my team alive. If giving out jungle charms helped them believe they’d make it home, then I’d hand them out by the fistful.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Did you keep one for yourself?”
Voodoo hesitated, then reached beneath his collar. He retrieved a tiny cowrie shell, nestled amongst a collection of beads whose colors had long since faded from the effects of time, and pulled it from the chain that hung around his neck. He dropped it into her palm.
She held it carefully, like it might crack. The oval shell, smooth as porcelain, gleamed with a rich, brown luster. She turned it over in her hand. A pale yellow, the long, narrow opening felt surprisingly smooth despite the sharp, tooth-like ridges lining its edges. “Is this real?”
“Real enough,” he said, watching her fingers close around it. “Been with me every mission since.”
Their eyes met. A beat passed. Then another.
“I don’t know if I can get used to calling you Voodoo. You were always just Sawyer to me.”
He smiled. “And you were always Savi.”
Her laugh was quiet and breathy, like a secret she wasn’t ready to share.
After she handed the charm back to him, they talked about tree forts and scraped knees, about the time she dared him to eat a worm and he pretended it was gourmet cuisine. The nostalgia settled between them like a warm blanket.
Then her tone shifted, eyes flicking to his. “What was it like? SEAL training?”
He leaned back, considering. “Hell, honestly. Long days, brutal instructors, bone-deep exhaustion. But you learn what you’re made of. You either survive it . . . or you don’t.”
“And you did,” she said, proud and quiet. “I bet it sucked.” She propped her elbow on the table, chin perched on her hand.
He blinked, then laughed under his breath. “That’s putting it mildly.”
She grinned, slow and real, and damn if it didn’t hit him straight in the chest.
“How’d you get through it?” she asked, voice softer now. “What keeps someone going when everything in them wants to quit?”
He leaned back, ran a hand through his hair. “You find one thing that matters more than the pain. For me . . . it was proving I could protect the people who couldn’t protect themselves. I guess I never really grew out of that.”
She dropped her hands to her lap, and her gaze flicked to the linen napkin there, like she was thinking of something she didn’t want to say out loud. The waiter chose that moment to bring their appetizer, interrupting the moment.
Voodoo watched as Savi spent several minutes delicately picking at their smoked salmon canapés, the buttery texture a welcome contrast to the salty fish.
He liked seeing her enjoy the dish. She hadn’t changed much.
Although her hair had darkened, it was still just as smooth.
Just as beautiful. And his fingers itched to delve into the silky strands.
The pale blue of her eyes, reminiscent of a warm summer day spent playing by the creek, stirred a familiar feeling in him.
They were still just as full of expression.
Still as captivating. Her stature was unremarkable, average in height really, but in his mind’s eye, he thought about that hug the previous day and the way she’d fit snugly and comfortably within the circle of his arms. Like she was made to be there.
He had always known her to be quiet and shy, with a tendency toward awkwardness, and it seemed that hadn’t changed over the years.
It was a familiar trait to him, one he had always accepted without issue.
Since he wasn’t someone who craved the spotlight, he found her quiet and unassuming nature to be ideally suited to his own personality.
Despite her modest and reserved personality, she had a captivating quality and a grace that made her stand out to him, much like a beacon.
On those rare occasions in the past two days when he glimpsed her real smile, it transformed her face, illuminating it with a remarkable radiance.
And when she laughed . . . he felt the sound as a physical touch, wrapping around him and settling deep within his soul.
His curiosity compelled him to learn about her as she was in the here and now. To understand her without the weight of past experiences or future expectations. He wanted to know her true self. Not the Senator’s puppet she tried to portray to the world.
A deep-seated determination to understand her completely, to peel away her layers of concealment, struck him. All he could do was hope, with a sense of trepidation, that she would let him.
Finally, with the last morsel gone, a comfortable silence settled, broken only by the clinking of silverware as he leaned in and quietly asked, “So, what about you? What was it like, growing up in the Senator’s house?”
The smile slipped off her face almost imperceptibly. “Busy,” she said, too quickly. “Strict. Always cameras and expectations.”
“Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. Were you happy?
” Suddenly, her answer to that question was more important than anything else.
Even before she spoke, the gloom in her eyes told him everything he needed to know, striking him with a force that felt like a punch to the gut.
If he’d only tried harder to keep in touch with her after she’d left, but the unanswered letters, each one a tiny stab of rejection, finally broke him and he’d given up.
Now, he wished he hadn’t. Perhaps if he had been more persistent in his efforts to maintain contact, the lingering shadows of her painful childhood might not weigh so heavily in her gaze.
She softly responded, “Happy enough,” her eyes fixed on the empty plate in front of her, her expression betraying little else.
“That’s not really an answer, Savi.”
Her eyes lifted to his, and there was something in them—guarded and shadowed. “Some doors are better left closed, Sawyer.”
Before he could press, a clatter of heels and perfume hit them like a glitter bomb and the moment snapped.
Kandy, wrapped in enough shimmer to blind satellites, slid up to the table, her perfume trailing behind like an aggressive warning. Before he could say a word, she dropped into the empty chair beside him, legs crossed, lip gloss sticky and too dark.
“Bonsoir, lovers!” Kandy trilled, a gold lamé dress barely holding onto her frame. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You are,” Voodoo said, not bothering to soften it.
“I just knew I’d find you here,” she purred, ignoring his blatant attempt to dismiss her, laying a hand casually on his arm. “You do clean up nicely. Though I’m guessing you look even better out of that suit. Especially if it was left on the floor in my suite.”