Hard Way (22 page)

“I’m so fucking sick of ‘ought to’.” He framed her face in his hands. Those long fingers, the same ones that could and had hurt her in such perfect ways, touched her with a reverence that had no match. She’d never experience anything that approached how he could cherish her. “I ought to like shooting the shit with those people. After all, I do it well enough. I ought to love my job too: goddamn, I
am
a good pilot. I don’t. I hate all this shit.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

She watched his features, trying to figure it out. Figure
him
out. At least she could break old patterns. That meant asking outright rather than filling in the blanks with her assumptions. “Are you really thinking of leaving the Aggressors? For what? On to bigger and better things to piss off your dad? Don’t bother. He wouldn’t even give ground if you joined the Black Ops.”

“And go all secret squirrel so you have no idea what I’m doing, or even if I’m in country? Hell no.”

Relief she hadn’t expected left her lightheaded. She despised his regular deployments as it was. Being alone, being afraid. It sucked so badly. She couldn’t imagine how she’d respond if his mid-career crisis included a jump into the secret service’s covert world.

If that was what it took to reinvigorate Liam, she wouldn’t have a choice. Tentative hope paled next to her need for sanity. Thank fuck her offhand mention didn’t spark any ideas behind his keen blue eyes. She was beginning to learn when she hit on a topic that excited him. This wasn’t one of them, which meant she could breathe when drowning had suddenly seemed a possibility.

If he left her…

Oh. Just, no. That tangled-yarn feeling was back, but it had transformed into something far more dangerous. Now she knew how it felt to be faced with that threat—to be left behind forever, with no choice in the matter.

Trembling, she traced the strong width of his wrists. A hint of hair tickled her fingertips when she nestled under his shirt cuffs. She couldn’t look away from his mouth, with the thin but delicately shaped arch of his upper lip. “Where
would
you go? If you left the Aggressors?”

He edged closer. The oven-hot air was nothing compared to their slow-burn heat. Her breath caught.

He kissed her with such caution that she wanted to weep. She let her eyes drift shut—the better to enjoy the shift of his lips over hers. Tequila was strong between them, and yet it held the perfect sting to make the sweetness all the more precious. They’d fucked, they’d chatted, they’d even halfway cuddled in bed and on the couch. This was patient seduction and the headiest aphrodisiac. She only wanted more.

Maybe everything wasn’t fixed. Maybe they’d still combust, because she had no idea what could bridge the gulf between them. But this moment, with his hands framing her jaw and the way he kissed her…

Whatever was wrong with them wasn’t an absence of feeling.

If anything, maybe they both felt too much, took too much weight on their shoulders. Fixing that was like trying to move the Earth with a six-foot fulcrum. Impossible.

“I don’t know where I’m headed tomorrow,” he said against her lips. “Or the next day. I haven’t given it much thought, even though I need to.” His tongue delicately traced her lower lip. “But I know what I want tonight. Would you like to go home? With me?”

“Yes, Liam. I would.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Dash said goodbye to his friends, apologized to Colonel Bandry again, and then to Major Haverty, and told everyone he’d see them Monday. When he walked toward his father, who stood in the corner of the room with someone who was likely a general, Sunny gripped Dash’s hand and gave a slight tug. He knew exactly what she meant. It felt like if they didn’t leave
right then
and capitalize on a moment of shared purpose, shared desire, they’d lose the feeling.

He had to stop thinking that way. He had to stop fearing every word or touch or kiss would be their last. The initial bombshell she’d dropped into their lives didn’t seem as one-sided anymore. His alpha-asshole reaction—to keep her at all costs—had eased into something less aggrieved, and she was apologizing and softening her language more often. They were working toward saving one another, which was the most they’d had in common for years. He knew it as surely as the way she clasped her fingers through his.

She would return to Washington the following weekend, and he might very well be flying to Canada in a matter of days. Dash would spend that time making sure they weathered the separation as they always had—with the assurance they would return to one another, and an understanding that returning would mean continuing to repair what had been broken.

Colonel Gene excused himself, all slick smiles when shaking hands with the general. No wonder Sunny hated that plastic smarm. It felt like looking a mannequin in the eye. “That was uncalled for and you both better know it.”

Sunny vibrated, probably with the effort to hold back whatever else she needed to say. Although Dash appreciated her protective enthusiasm, this was his fight. He’d let too many things slide for too long.

Dash kept his shoulders straight, because letting his father scent doubt was like tossing chum into shark-infested waters. “Uncalled for? No. Poorly timed is all I’ll concede.”

“Then we have nothing more to say.”

“I don’t think so. This isn’t the time or place, but don’t make the mistake that we were suffering a bout of temporary insanity.”

“You were handed so many opportunities, and this is how you treat me?”

“I earned more opportunities than I was given,” Dash said, his jaw clenching like a vise. “But you know what? First rule of engagement is knowing how to pick your battles. This isn’t a battle I want to fight right now.”

His father crossed his arms. That particular move had intimidated the hell out of Dash as a kid. Its impact was intensified by the uniform and rank he’d been trained for a decade to respect—and yield to. “And you get to decide that, do you?”

“I do today. Have a good flight home, Dad.”

He led Sunny away, knowing they’d be home soon, but the hopefulness of their gorgeous kiss had waned.

Back out in the choking heat, however, she stopped him on the gleaming white gravel walkway. Cupped his face. Refused to let him look away. “That was awesome.”

Dash pulled her into his arms and breathed the soft shampoo-and-product scent of her bound and braided hair. Soon he’d see it curling around her shoulders and trailing down her back. Soon… No. No expectations.

But his reply was as true as he’d ever spoken. “God, yes. And I have you to thank. I was willing to let it slide. I thought
not
playing the game was good enough. This is much better.” He shrugged and pulled away to look into her dark eyes. The admiration he found there was enough to knock a man to his knees. “It’s not over, but it’s the start I needed to make.”

“Sounds familiar,” she said with a wry grin.

“Sunny—”

“No, Captain. This is me picking our battles on behalf of both of us. We’re getting out of here, remember?”

He chuckled as huge hunks of tension fell away. “That I do.”

“Good.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his chin. “Because suddenly this afternoon has turned into something worth celebrating.”

No tension remained on the drive home. Only anticipation. They still seemed to prefer silence to talking—perhaps because words remained as powerful as landmines—and the same questions, worries, plans ran through his head like a gerbil on a wheel. Yet Sunny’s posture was relaxed, as if their departure had surgically removed the brass rod from her spine. She leaned against the headrest, as tranquil as those moments after burning through the filthy, hot energy of their rough fantasy games.

Pretending to force her was miles away from what he wanted. Dash wanted another kiss. He wanted to see if they could take another step toward reconciliation. Not fucking. Making love.

Once inside the bungalow, he held out his hand. “Come here,” he said quietly.

She dropped her purse onto his recliner. “I…” She squared her posture and turned, but the Ice Queen was long gone. She was Sunny. She was vulnerable. “I don’t want our games right now.”

“Neither do I.”

“And I don’t want Dash.”

“He kinda checked out tonight.”

“I noticed.” Without hesitation now, she took his hand. “Then take me to bed, Liam.”

He probably walked too quickly to their bedroom, but he couldn’t help it. Eagerness had replaced his hesitation. Whispers of hope that morning had been pounded into nothing by drumbeats of dread. Now hope and eagerness made his heart beat with more adrenaline than he felt before takeoff.

She shut the bedroom door behind him and dove into his arms so suddenly, reminding him of his deepest desires, not the distance he’d come to expect. Maybe that was
her
true self coming through. For Liam. Not Dash. Could that be possible? Did she really see him as some sort of guy split into two?

Maybe he was.

Didn’t matter.

The taste of tequila was gone, leaving only Sunny. His wife. He hadn’t been able to say or think that word without anger in weeks. So he kissed her in return, crisscrossing her back within his embrace. Mouths still connected, tongues sweeping and slipping across each other, Sunny slid his uniform coat down his arms and started on his shirttails. Dash reciprocated, tasting her, breathing her, as he fumbled with faux pearl buttons that would soon, soon, open to reveal her body. It was the first time since her return that he’d undressed her without violence.

But with no less passion.

She moaned into his mouth, which loosened his body. With that one sound, she gave him the right to want her this way. He was shirtless. She wore a white bra that was accented with beautiful edges of lace—as delicate as she appeared. Soon that was gone too, and they clung close.

Dash grabbed her ass and lifted her so that their mouths could explore without a foot discrepancy in height. She hooked her ankles at the base of his spine and held on tight. Breast to chest. Arms so fucking greedy. She thrust her hips in gentle invitation. God, she must’ve felt his erection there between her legs, because her next pulse was stronger, more deliberate and arousing.

He walked her to the bed and laid her across the boot-camp-perfect comforter. Could he bounce a quarter off the damn thing? Yes, even after so many years. That training beat a hasty retreat when Sunny stretched beneath his tense body and smiled like a beckoning siren.

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered. “So fucking handsome.”

“Tell me that’s not why you’re here.”

A shimmer glazed over her rich, dark eyes. She blinked it away. “I’m here because I want to be, and not just because looking at you makes me melt.”

“Jesus, Sunny.” He pressed his mouth between her breasts and turned that perfect flesh into his playground. He needed to make it real for himself before he could sink into this moment—and eventually sink into her.

Another shot of adrenaline.

Yes
. All he could think was
yes
.

So he made it real by licking and kissing and nipping along the soft curves of her breasts, then found each nipple and started again. Over and over, until his fingers matched the rhythm of her hips.

“You’re wearing pants, Captain Christiansen. I don’t like that.”

He stilled, then looked her in the face. “Not here. Not Dash. Not my fucking rank. Promise me.”

“Why?”

“It feels…” He dipped his chin, sifting through his rattled thoughts for the right word. “It feels wrong. Here, Sunny, it feels wrong.”

Had they been in any other situation, she might have pressed. He saw it in the sudden tightening of her lips and the small, furrowed ridge between her brows. He was on the verge of something big. He didn’t know what the hell it was, and that meant he didn’t want to go another round with her.

Apparently that wasn’t her agenda either. “Liam, I want to be naked with you.”

He shuddered. Flat-out shuddered. A cheeky grin on her gold-tinted lips took some of the sting out of his embarrassment.

Kneeling above her, he unzipped her slacks and pulled them down, taking her panties with him for good measure. “Ah damn, Sunny.”

He was hard. So hard. She was a goddess of honey and caramel and secrets. Perfect little breasts. The slope that ran from her ribs to her hips made his palms prickle with the need to hold on. Never let go. The shadowed mystery between her legs was neatly trimmed and as dark as her hair.

Christ.

His voice was thick as he rasped, “Sunny. Your hair. Please, like you used to do.”

“Only after those trousers come off. If I’m going to do a striptease, so are you.”

His smile felt lopsided, but it also felt real.

“Me taking down my hair is a tease and you know it,” she said. “You get to return the favor.” She made the shooing motion that she always did—when she was at ease and playful. “Off. Now. Make it good.”

He wobbled up from the bed. His smile widened until he laughed. Yes. Trousers off. But no way in hell could he take it slowly. Button, zipper, down, kick. His briefs went next, which rewarded him with Sunny’s sharp, gratifying inhalation.