Broken Honor (25 page)

He opened the door for her and Bo, and as she went down the steps, he quickly stooped and placed the tape at the bottom of the door. Not very scientific, he knew, but it would have to do. The shades were the best indicator. If anyone was prowling inside, the intruder would want them down.

They took Highway 17 up the coast. He stopped at a grocery store and went inside while she waited outside with Bo. He came out with a bag of ice he put in a cooler along with a bottle of wine and some groceries.

An hour later, he found a beach with a parking lot that did not look too crowded. He watched as Amy and Bo jumped out. He hesitated a moment, then took his pistol and holster and locked them in the trunk, along with Amy's purse, which contained her gun. He had watched carefully on the way up, and didn't think anyone had followed them.

He picked up the ice chest and they walked to the beach, moving toward a relatively isolated spot shadowed by a sand dune. She had brought a blanket from the cottage, and she spread it out on the sand. Bo plopped down on the sand and watched the ice chest as if he knew exactly what was in it.

The sun seemed particularly large, the sea splendidly blue, the birds singularly graceful. A sea breeze ruffled through Amy's hair, and the sun blushed her cheeks. He held out his hand and helped her lower herself. He watched as she took off her shoes, then slipped off her jeans. The bathing suit was relatively modest, but it showed her figure to good advantage. Her legs were long and shapely. Too shapely.

He looked away and stripped off his own jeans to reveal a rather cheap bathing suit. He'd bought it yesterday when getting their groceries at a store that had numerous beach items as well as food.

The waves made seductive music, accented by the occasional cry of a swooping gull. But nothing was as intoxicating as the woman beside him. He wished he didn't remember every moment of that night they had made love. He wanted her now with a gut-wrenching need, but even more he wanted her safe. And he didn't know how to make her safe.

He looked at a wheeling gull as it glided above the sea, then dived into the water. Her hand crept into his, and he wondered at how natural it felt. He couldn't remember when he'd just held a woman's hand before. For the first time, he felt a sense of belonging. His fingers tightened around hers and heat built there, moving along his nerve ends and pooling in his groin. Their gazes met, and he knew she felt that same warm energy. Her usually cool eyes were smoky, and her tongue darted out and licked her lips. It was a particularly sensuous movement, and the fact that she seemed completely unaware of it made the gesture even more seductive. He had never met a woman more unaware of her own attractiveness.

If he didn't do something, he would take her then and there, to hell with anyone who might wander by. He stood, although it had been only minutes since they'd sat. “Let's go for a walk.”

She regarded him seriously for a moment, then rose. “I think that's a good idea.” Bo, who had dug a cool hole in the sand, stood and nudged him, obviously in agreement.

His hand caught hers again, and they walked down to the cool water. He wondered that it didn't sizzle as it met his heated skin. He felt as if he were burning up with need.

This had been a mistake.

And yet as he looked at her and saw the smile on her lips, he knew it wasn't. It was just going to cost him a lot of sleepless nights and jangled nerves, and “what ifs.” What if he didn't know that the Army and long-term commitments just didn't go together? Yet she had accomplished what no other woman had: she had wriggled into his soul, and by God she had done it in the matter of a few days.

An intense few days.

That was it. The intensity. And yet there was something else, too, something far stronger than mere lust. It scared the hell out of him, particularly with a woman who seemed to have a death wish. He knew he had to talk her out of returning to Memphis, tenure or not.

They walked for an hour, maybe longer. The sun beat down on them while cool water crept over their ankles, then retreated. They passed other couples, and yet it seemed as if no one else existed. She stopped where several kids were building a sand castle, and he watched as she released his hand and stooped down, remarking on the excellence of the structure and winning broad grins in reply. He stood by and watched her relate to a six-year-old, and he wondered why she had never married.

He
had reasons. Good reasons. He wondered about hers.

When she stood, he took her hand again. And he asked, though he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to get more involved than he already was. But the question came anyway. “Why haven't you ever married?”

“And you know I haven't?”

He'd been suitably put in his place. They had never talked about it. The only way he could know was by checking into her background. “Not absolutely,” he said.

She smiled at that. “I thought you knew everything.”

It was a “gotcha” smile. And she hadn't answered his question.

They had passed the children, left them behind, and by silent consent moved within the shadow of a dune where they had some privacy. No one in sight. He leaned down and kissed her. His lips skimmed over her cheek, then settled on her lips. Their nearly naked bodies fused. Her skin was warm, glowing from the sun, and she smelled like sand and sea. Her body arched against his in an incredibly erotic way. He felt himself growing hard under the thin cloth of the cheap bathing suit. She responded, her body snuggling into his. It felt right, natural, real.

All of a sudden, he wondered whether anything had been real before. He had skirted the edges of life, avoiding involvement, avoiding any kind of commitment. The ranch had been the only real home he'd ever had, and he visited it only rarely. Afraid to let it into his heart. Into his soul. Someone might grab that away, too.

He was past forty. He'd had an interesting career. He'd thought he'd kept loneliness at bay. During his life, he'd known only rotten examples of marital relationships. He could still remember his mother yelling at his stepfather. Still remembered the tears. Still remember her accusations. “
All you care about is that damned Army. Well, go sleep with it
.”

Peace had been a rare commodity in the household. He knew it was true of his grandfather, too. How many times had he heard his grandfather say it? “Marriage and the Army don't mix.” And the Army was Irish's life.

His body didn't seem to comprehend that concept.

Loneliness and need and yearning welled up inside, and he knew they had been lurking beneath the surface. Could he stop rubbing the lamp and put the genie back in the bottle?

All those thoughts passed like individual frames in a motion picture. He'd edited his own version of his movie, and now he found it highly unsatisfactory.

Irish took his lips from her mouth and moved them lightly across her face, wanting to taste the essence of her, claim it as his own. Heat intensified where their bodies met, and flooded through the rest of his body. He felt the quick, involuntary shudder of her body.

Electricity ran between them, sparking and scorching. Her body softened as his hardened, and they seemed to meld together in complete compatibility. Her arms went up around his neck, and their lips met again. He felt alive again, pulsing with energy. His blood was like currents of liquid fire, searing and sensitizing every nerve, every muscle.

The sound of voices stilled them. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he stepped back. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth slightly swollen from his kiss. She looked as dazed as he felt. Her hands fell from his neck, and her fingers interlocked with his.

Neither of them moved as a woman and man, and two children walked by. Bo belatedly barked at them.

“Thanks for warning us,” Irish said dryly.

“I think … we had better go back,” Amy said, her voice breathless.

His free hand went to her chin, fondling it with his thumb. “Later,” he promised.

“You think we can be good that long?” Amy gave him a trembling smile that was extraordinarily appealing. So was her honestly.

“No,” he said.

They started back, Bo sniffing dead sea creatures along the way, and they paused once in a while to wait for him. Their gazes invariably met, the smoky promise of combustion in hers. Only that kept him from feeling like a schoolboy clutching his girlfriend's hand. He hadn't realized how fine a feeling it was. The intimacy. The warmth. The belonging.

The peace of it. The tranquillity of this place. A sky so blue it hurt. A sun so large and bright he felt he could touch it. The song of the sea and the birds. No violence here.

He saw the same wonderment in her eyes. How could two such opposite worlds collide as theirs had?

Amy tried to subdue all the tumultuous feelings raging through her, tried not to throw herself into his arms again. She felt soft and melting all over, and she wanted to feel neither. Or maybe she did, and that terrified her. But she couldn't harness the raging desire that sent tremors through her. Nor the closeness she had never felt with anyone before.

Back. The cottage. A bed
. Her fingers tightened around the rough strength of his fingers. She absorbed every touch, memorized the sensations that still lingered inside her, goading and teasing.

They reached the blanket. He looked at her for a moment, asking silently.

“Let's picnic at the cottage,” she said.

He grinned at her. It was more than a twist of his lips. It was a full-fledged, honest grin.

She helped him gather up their belongings. The hunger inside her didn't fade. Instead, it seemed stronger with every touch of hands, every meeting of eyes.

In minutes, they were back in the car, driving down the coast. She sat in the corner where she could watch him, watch every nuance. The lover had turned into something else when they'd returned to the car; he'd efficiently checked his gun and replaced the holster on the belt of his jeans. The softness faded from the day. Reality returned, and she didn't want reality.

She wanted to think instead of his kisses, and the warm tenderness.

The two didn't go together. Violence and peace. Passion and danger. Or maybe they did. Maybe that was why her emotions were like a whirlwind, maybe that was why fire still sizzled between them. Every time Flaherty took his eyes from the road and looked at her, she felt scorched.

She tried to focus on Bo. He seemed oblivious to the currents. He was obviously content just to be with them. Settling down between the two of them, he put his head on her lap. But even with him separating them, she felt fire sizzling between Irish and herself.

She knew exactly what was coming, and she wondered whether she was ready for it. It would, she feared, mean much more to her than to him. She'd always been a one-guy kind of girl. Sleeping with someone was a huge commitment to her. She feared it wasn't for him.

Still, she couldn't resist the irresistible, no matter what he was, or who he was, or how long it might last. She wasn't even going to try. She had been caught in something on the beach that she'd never experienced before, and she knew she would not go through life without finishing what had been started. She had no wish to always wonder what could have been.

That's not like you
. She heard the whisper, but pushed it aside. Nothing that had happened in the past weeks had been within her realm of reality. Her life had been turned upside down. Black was white, white was black, and she could never be what she had been.

No more caution. No more reservations. No more building walls. She simply wanted him.

And she knew if she did not act now, she might never experience what he offered. Even temporarily. Even though she was determined to return to Memphis and resume her life.

They said little during the ride back. They didn't have to. Intimacy had made him an old friend; words weren't required.

An hour later, they approached the lane with its small cottages. Flaherty drove past it, and she saw him tense. The warmth between them faded as she sensed something was very wrong. She sat up straighter and looked around. “What is it?”

“Maybe nothing,” he said.

“But you don't think so.”

“I left all the shades exactly halfway up. One is out of place.”

She went cold. An hour ago, she was beginning to feel normal and safe again. Even falling in love a little. Maybe a lot. Now fear crawled up her spine again. Her hand dug into Bo's fur.

“What should we do?” she asked after a moment.

“Not you, Amy,” he said as he drove around the corner, out of sight of the house, and parked. “Me. I'll go around the back.”

“I don't understand. How could they find us?”

“My fault. I shouldn't have let you call your friend. They must have her phone tapped, and through that they can locate us. It takes pretty sophisticated equipment. I didn't think they could have those resources.”

“Could they really tap Sherry's phone?” she said, fearing she had put her friend in danger.

He nodded. “It's fairly easy with the right equipment.”

“She should know about it. She should know she might be in danger.”

“I'll ask someone to visit her. I don't think we should use the phone any longer.”

“Why don't we both just drive away now?”

A hard glint came into his eyes. “I want to meet these guys. And a lot of my possessions are still in the house. And yours.”

“I want to go with you.”

“No way, love.”

Any other time, she might have been intrigued by his choice of words. She was not his “love.” Not now. Not yet. Did she really want to be?

Because now he had changed. His lips firmed, and his eyes were as icy a blue as she had ever seen. The laughter and banter and warmth were gone. Instead, he was a warrior. It was in the watchfulness of his gaze, the sudden tenseness of the muscles in his cheek.
A warrior
. Everything she'd been taught to hate.