The Captive's Return
Page 25

"You're... That's... Amazing." Heat shooshed through her veins, melting away tension. "Truly, though, you do not owe me a thing. You already gave me the most precious gift ever—Lucia."
A precious gift that snored, but what a reassuring sound.
"Do you want me to stop?" He kneaded muscles between her shoulder blades.
Her head lolling forward, she groaned.
"I'll take that as a go-ahead to continue."
She managed a nod with the next moan, wondering if she was selfish for lapping up the glorious feel of his hands that knew her body so well. "Are you sure your arm's all right to do this?"
His thumbs worked down the edges of her spine. "Totally okay."
Of course. He was invincible.
Although now that he was letting her see the human side of him as well with confidences, she found herself more drawn than ever. "I'm sorry to have added another scar to your beautiful body."
"You've already apologized. But, uh, beautiful?" He hesitated rubbing for a heartbeat, then slid to cup her waist. "That's not a word men prefer to hear describing them."
"You work out, don't you?"
He grunted.
"You're fit. But you don't strike me as a team sports sort of man, so I assume you work out."
"I still run." His hands massaged up her waist, his fingers grazing the sides of her breasts. She shivered. "Usually at the beach. I like open spaces."
"Plus the solitude?" She struggled for words to keep from falling too deeply under the spell of his hands. "For a loner, you chose a strange profession. Even your plane is a crew aircraft. I would have expected you to fly a single-seat fighter jet."
"Seems more logical, doesn't it?"
So why had he made the choice? A subconscious yearning for something different? That gave her pause. "Are you happy with your current assignment?"
"Charleston has amazing beaches and barrier islands, not as mountainous as the seaside here, but no less awesome. I think you could like it in South Carolina."
Thank goodness for his relaxing touch because her muscles were kinking again. Not that there was any real decision to be made. Of course she would go to the States and Charleston was the logical location to settle. Lucia needed to know her father. Tomas had roots there.
She and Lucas were married and she loved him. Totally. In a world swirling with turmoil and decisions, she couldn't hide from that very clear reality.
So why did things still feel strangely…off? "I guess the time has come to discuss the future in concrete terms."
"Yeah, here we are again, sitting in bed together talking about being married." He rubbed down her arms, his hot breath drying her damp hair. "Are you going to call my marriage discussion 'bull' again?"
She winced. Could she have really been that heartless? Or so selfishly heart-hurt by his duty proposal that she'd brushed off his words as if they didn't matter.
Sara turned in his arms, her hand to his chest. "I wish I had treasured you more then."
His forehead creased. "I don't know what to say to something like that."
"You don't have to say anything." She tapped his mouth. "Why not just let me love you?"
He blinked twice then nipped her finger. "You know we can't do anything here tonight. But I promise you can have your way with me after we land in Charleston."
"That's not what I meant."
Maybe she should have held off on deep discussions until they were no longer exhausted and vulnerable. She wasn't sure what she planned to say or even how to articulate what she hadn't been able to understand in five years. But at least they were communicating.
"You are an amazing man. You've made opportunities for yourself with little or no help. You take care of the world, clearing up other people's problems and mistakes without ever allowing yourself the least human foible."
His brow trenched deeper. "Is this a more sophisticated way of saying 'bull'?"
"Not at all. I used to envy that about you. I've worked very hard to be a stronger, better person—for our child, for me, and also because you deserve the best. I refuse to be anything but my best."
The rest crystallized in her mind like one of her bubbles in flight. "The problem is, if we are to be a truly committed couple, I need to be allowed to love you as much as you love me. I need to care for you as much as you care for me."
She smoothed her hands over that broad chest in uniform, so capable and strong it would be easy to rest her head against it for a lifetime. But she wasn't the selfish girl any longer. Her love ran deeper.
"I know there's nothing you can't handle on your own, so it's difficult for you to need anyone." She tapped his temple. "But it must be a very lonely place in there." She tapped his chest, over his heart. "In here, as well."
"You're saying if I don't... what? Cry at your feet or cut open my heart for you, then we can't be together?" His chest pumped with each ragged—angry?—breath. "That's not who I am and you know it."
Frustration frothed higher along with disappointment. She'd been so hopeful with the flowers and his opening up at least a little. "Lucas, I just want y—"
He stood abruptly, scattering petals over the floor, much like her fragmented thoughts as she scrambled to put the pieces of her world together again.
"You should be relaxing. That's what tonight was supposed to have been about for you. We have time to work through the rest." He didn't dodge looking at her, but he may as well have. His face blanked, the expressionless commander in place again, taking control and shutting out the world—including her. "I need to check on scheduling for tomorrow night's flight out."
Pivoting on his heel, he tugged open the door and left.
That was it? He'd walked out? She bit back the urge to jerk open the door and shout for him to march his fine-looking self back into their room.
Wouldn't that surprise his flyers?
Except he was right that they had plenty of time to talk later. A whole life of days now.
Why push this hard to clarify things between them, rather than simply reveling in their reunion? But she couldn't escape the now-or-never sensation. Here, they were on an even footing of sorts.
Once they landed in the States, she would need so much from him while acclimating to a new country, re-learning to make choices, wiser ones this time. Even looking into what Tomas had said about professional help to "decompress." If she didn't settle things with Lucas now, how long would it be before she had another chance to be his partner? Something she wanted with every fiber of her adult soul.
Something he deserved. He would have needs, too, during this transition.
She knelt on the floor, sweeping her hand over the scattered petals as if to rebuild the evening and handle things better this time. She sifted the scented bits between her fingers, such tiny scraps to give off such a potent scent.
The whimsical notion tugged at her. She almost discarded it as a frivolous bit of tripe the old Sara would have considered. Instead the thought flowered inside her mind—even her heart—all those little red satiny bits coming together.
She'd been so clueless. She'd accused Lucas of expecting perfection from himself, when she had been expecting the same from him. He was such a capable man of huge accomplishments, she had been looking for the same from him on the emotional front.
Except he wasn't invulnerable after all. Reaching out was difficult for him, something he rarely did and therefore she should have paid far more attention to the smaller details when he did. Spreading rose petals on the bed for her in a tender romantic gesture would have been tougher for him than whacking through a hazardous jungle or leading a squadron.
She plopped onto her bottom, cradled the petals in her cupped hands and knew she wasn't being whimsical or silly in the least to think she held Lucas's heart.
Wasn't that an earthshaking, amazing realization? The reality of it rocked her until she could have sworn the floorboards moved beneath her.
Again?
She inched to the side to stare at the pine slats in the dim moonlight, her brain refusing to process what she saw. Boards slid aside, a man emerging, large, lethal.
Machine gun aimed.
Ramon had come for her, with a hardened glint in his eyes that shone through even the dark.
"You seem very comfortable here, Sarafina, not at all an unwilling prisoner." He jacked the weapon up higher. "Make a sound and I will shoot your brains all over Lucia."
Chapter 15
Lucas strode down the hall away from his room, away from Sara and the guards posted at her door and window. For the first time in his life, he had no idea where to go next. He'd always had a goal along with a plan for how to achieve it.
Well, he had the goal—plant a ring on Sara's hand. But he had no idea how to go about making that happen. So he'd made tracks for the door when her questions grew more pointed.
He could probably persuade her to stay at his house for Lucia's sake. Except, damn it all, he wanted her to move in for him.
Given his rotten mood, he should level out before attempting to make his case. Better to review tomorrow night's flight plan again.
The dingy hall echoed with his boot steps, all the doors closed except for one open slightly, a slice of light knifing across the floor. He paused outside, finding Carson Hunt alone with a cup of coffee and his laptop on the desk. Lucas rapped his knuckles on the molding frame, not totally sure why, but unwilling to keep walking.
Hunt glanced up. "Oh, hello, sir. Is something wrong?"
"Does something have to be wrong for me to speak with you?" An odd notion he'd never noticed before, but come to think of it, he rarely shot the breeze. Lucas leaned a shoulder against the frame. "Where's everyone?"
"Enjoying a taste of tequila." He closed his computer and spun his chair away from the desk.
"Tequila?" Lucas straightened. What the hell? "We have a flight tomorrow night—"
"They know when crew rest starts. It's one bottle that both crews are sharing with a couple of Cartinian crews, which doesn't come out to more than a shot each. They're celebrating Seabrook's safe return. They're due that."
Hunt stroked his blond mustache while he studied Lucas as if waiting for something...like his reason for stopping since Lucas wasn't known for making polite chitchat.
Lucia was right. He was a hard—sometimes grouchy—commander. "Good job taking care of things while I was away."
Hunt quirked a brow. "Thank you, sir. You've trained us all well."
"Have I?"
Both brows shot up this time. "Excuse me?"
Sara and Lucia both had him thinking, looking deeper and reevaluating. "Part of leadership is mentoring. Quite frankly, I suck at all that warm-fuzzy teacher stuff. I'm more the hard-ass instructor type."
"Maybe so," Hunt conceded slowly, as if waiting for the explosion, and when it didn't come, he continued, "but when it came time to pick folks for positions like mine, you chose mentor types to round out the picture. Together, we get the job done."
"I hope so." He certainly hadn't gotten the job done when it came to a relationship with Sara, then or now. What the hell was he looking for here? Apparently he didn't know much of anything tonight. "Well, that's all I wanted to say. Good night, Major."
Lucas started to pivot away.
"Sir? Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Damn. He would. What was up with that? Still, it would give him a chance to pull his thoughts together before going to bed with Sara.
Lucas turned back. "Yeah, thanks."
Hunt filled a second mug beside the coffeemaker. "Nothing like a good Colombian roast."