Chapter 24
OLIVIA
It was mid-afternoon when I finished at the Osterh?gen headquarters and returned to the hotel, my appointment scheduled with my new captain for the morning. I’d have to log several hours in both aircrafts before I could start flying passengers, and the captains and I were anxious to get started.
I came into the room, dropping my stack of paperwork on the side table.
Wait, why were the lights on?
The air in the room went thin. Ethan stood from the couch, his expression guarded. “I told you my real name,” he said. “You could’ve at least told me yours, Kathryn.”
My bones turned to ice. “Don’t say that name again. I’m Olivia Wallace.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Actually, technically, I’m Sara Pratt. That’s the new identity you had Shawn arrange.”
Dammit, Jason.
People looked at me differently when they thought they knew my story.
“Kathryn Pierce died on a mountain,” I continued, “and I told you before—I don’t want to talk about it.”
He wasn’t the least bit fazed by my harsh tone. “Like it or not, we’re going to have that conversation.”
I shook my head, my frustration climbing. “Why? It was a long time ago. How is it important now?”
“Because I want to know what happened to you.” The statement hung in the air. “Look, I know I have no right to ask it. You don’t owe this to me.” He sighed. “But I want to hear it from you because you seem to understand me better than anyone else. Maybe I want the same to be true for me.”
I swallowed a breath, utterly conflicted. I’d left the States precisely to get away from this. “There’s plenty of stuff online that tells the story better than I can.” I tried to deflect. “What are you doing here? Where’s Gio?”
“Don’t worry about him. Please tell me about the night on the mountain.”
Was he serious? I’d said no. Why was he still pushing? I put my hands on my hips and unleashed the full fury of my glare on him. “I believe I told you that I don’t like talking about myself.”
His enormous feet brought him closer. And closer. “You came to Europe to get lost for a while. Not because you were running from that.”
“So what if I was?” Anger burned so hot inside me, it threatened to explode. “Go to hell.”
He drew in a deep breath, his expression serious. “Thanks, but I’ve already been.” His strong, rough hand touched my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. “Tell me about your time in hell, and . . . I’ll tell you about mine.”
Unexpected warmth spread from his caress and his words. He dangled this information as incentive to get what he wanted, but I was skeptical. “You’ll do that?”
His hand curled, tilting my head up as he leaned down, lowering in so his intense, beautiful eyes were all I could see. “I’m tired of secrets.”
His kiss was disarming. Gentle and sweet, but it leveled me all the same.
I steadied a hand on his arm, struggling to act immune, and pushed him away. “Fine, I accept.”
He stepped back and went to one of the side tables, retrieving a glass filled with a honey-colored liquid. He must have found the bottle of bourbon the bar had sent up last night. It caused a pang to ricochet through my heart as he held it out for me.
There was no point in stalling.
“We were coming back to base when there was a bang, and the Blackhawk began to shudder. It got progressively worse until I thought we were going to shake apart.” I carried the glass over to the couch, sat, and stared at the drink in my hand.
“Main rotor failure. We all knew we were going down, and the crew chief picked the clearing on the mountain. He said we were going to make it.”
My gaze slowly worked its way over to him. Ethan leaned against the side table, and although he tried not to look it, he was obviously tense.
“There wasn’t enough momentum left in the blades to control the descent.
” I took a sip, and the smoky warmth spread across my tongue.
“We fell out of the fucking sky. I don’t remember the impact.
When I came to, the chief, Damon, and the two Rangers we’d picked up .
. . they were already gone. The other pilot, Gonzales, he was in rough shape. A lot rougher than me.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, straightening from the table.
“Yeah. The media left that part out, for his family.”
His chest moved with his rapid breath. “Jesus, what happened to him?”
Part of me didn’t want to remember. It had taken ten hard years to push it down, even when I knew it wasn’t healthy.
Why risk telling him if it was going to bring that horrific night back into my thoughts?
Yet I only felt alive when taking risks.
Maybe it was better to feel the pain than continue not living, being numb and empty inside.
“He died, bawling like a baby and begging me to kill him. I spent the last thirty minutes of his life trying to keep him quiet so no one would find us.”
His expression was heartbreaking, and I couldn’t bear it another second. I took another sip of bourbon and stared at the coffee table.
“That was when Kathryn died,” he said.
It was barely a whisper. “Yes.”
Since I’d taken my eyes off him, I didn’t know he’d moved.
He was always silent. The couch cushion shifted as he sat next to me.
He pulled the glass from my fingers and drank from it.
The simple of act of sharing a drink shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.
But it was this drink, the one we both drank whenever we were missing home.
Our fingertips grazed as he handed the glass back.
“I don’t remember where the grenade came from,” I said.
“Probably one of the Rangers brought it on board, or the chief had it. There was a munitions box I was worried the Taliban fighters would go after, once they discovered the crew was dead. I pulled the pin and tipped the box on the safety lever, right next to the leaking fuel tank. I was so stupid. I didn’t know how big the explosion was going to be. ”
Or how much it was going to hurt.
Even after the fire was out, I was sure my back was engulfed in flames.
“Look at me,” Ethan commanded.
I held my breath, not wanting to see the pity and horror in his eyes. But it wasn’t there. It was only that intense, inescapable stare.
“You’re a hell of a woman, you know that? And you’re so beautiful, it hurts.”
Why did he do that? My stomach lifted into my chest like I’d hit an air pocket midflight. His gaze strengthened and heated until it was smoldering.
“You’re doing it again,” I said on an uneven voice.
“What’s that?”
“Looking like you want me to kiss you.”
His dark eyes didn’t waver. “Because I do. What the fuck are you waiting for?”
Something broke inside me, maybe the wall I’d put up to hold myself back.
I all but attacked him, climbing into his lap so I was facing him, the bourbon sloshing in the glass as I did it.
When our mouths crashed together, it drove away the dark memories I’d worried would reappear if I told him.
My only thought was knowing more about this man.
And right this moment, that meant knowing what he tasted like.
Bourbon.
And sex.
His hands were tight on my waist as we kissed, and his mouth was hot. Urgent. Greedy. His tongue dipped inside my mouth and caused electricity to flow down to the center between my legs. The heat of it made me grind against his lap, which sent more sparks of pleasure darting through my body.
Shit, I wanted him like nothing else.
I clutched the glass of bourbon in one hand, but burrowed the other up under his shirt, skimming my fingertips over the smooth skin that was decorated with scars, covering the hardened muscle beneath. The rapid thump in his chest mimicked mine and was proof we were alive.
Fuck, I hadn’t felt this alive in years.
My breathing had gone so ragged, I’d had to pause the kiss, but he continued. He tilted his head so his lips could travel down the side of my neck and suck on the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“Your hair,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my skin. “The color looks good on you.”
It was like he’d figured out what his compliments did to me, and now he wasn’t playing fair.
I was off balance and veering toward free-fall.
So, I straightened and leaned back in his lap, putting space between us.
I did it to try to get a handle on myself but pretended it was only so I could take another sip from my glass.
I stared down, drinking in the sight of Ethan just as much as my bourbon.
His strong jaw was dark with stubble, and his eyes were hazy with desire, and the craving I had for him was brutal.
When I tried to set the glass down on the coffee table behind me, he sat up, took it from me, and drained the rest of it in one large swallow.
The glass thudded loudly against the wood of the tabletop as he plunked it down, and as soon as his hands were free, he grasped the hem of my shirt. I was barely able to lift my arms in time as he stripped it off and flung it aside.
Then his fingers curled around one of the straps of my bra and tugged it from my shoulder, peeling a bra cup down until my breast was exposed.
But only for a second, because his hand covered my bare skin, gripping me. Squeezing and caressing and making the need inside me acute. I set a hand behind me on his knee and arched my back into his touch, encouraging him.
He let out a sound of approval, a deep groan from his chest, and it was so sexy, I shivered.
The lights were on, and I was nearly topless, and yet . . . the anxiety about my scarred back was nowhere to be found.
It was a thousand degrees in the room when he dropped his head and latched his mouth around my nipple.
The swirl of his tongue, the gentle pull of suction .
. . it fogged my brain. It made my fingers clumsy as I undid the latch on my bra, but eventually the band sprung free and I pulled it from my body.
Before it hit the floor, he had a hand on my other breast.