Breaking Through (Book 2 of the SEAL TEAM Heartbreakers) (17 page)

The need to touch Brett, to offer him comfort, rose like a tide. She raised a hand to his cheek. The warmth of his skin seeped into her fingertips. His pale blue gaze focused on her.

“You’re going to get through this, just as you have everything else.” If it was humanly possible, he would. But what if he didn’t?

His muscular bulk, the strength of his personality, and the focus he projected, made her more aware of his vulnerability than she’d ever been of anyone’s.  She rose on tiptoe to slide her arms around his neck and hold him.

His arms went around her and he stepped into the embrace, bringing their bodies close. His heart beat against her hard and fast. Too hard. Too fast.  And his skin felt feverish.

She caressed the back of his neck soothing him. “We’re going to find the kid. I know we will.” She rested her cheek against his and breathed in the clean scent of soap and man.

The longer she held him, the more she relived those moments when they’d danced, but the memory was a sad substitute. Her breasts ached with the need to be touched. The row of bars and medals on his uniform pressed into her, stiff, unyielding. She shifted, and his arms tightened. The thrust of his erection lay like a tormenting promise against her belly. Oh God, if she raised herself on tiptoe, it would be so close.

“Brett … ” her voice came out breathy and weak. She drew back to look up at him, and his mouth was there, covering hers, his arm tightening around her even while his hand ran down over her buttocks to mold her against him. Responding to the open hunger he exhibited, her heart thundered against her ribs. Her mouth parted, offering him access, and his tongue thrust forward to find hers.

I have to stop this. I have to
. The kiss went on and on.
Oh God, have I ever been kissed like this?
He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over the erect nipple that pushed against the fabric of her blouse. Her will wavered, and she leaned into his touch, encouraging him. And when his mouth left hers to follow the line of her cheek and jaw to her throat, all she could do was drag in enough air for a sigh instead of the words she needed to say.

The stiff ribbons on his shirt snagged the neckline of her blouse. Brett hastened to unbutton his shirt one handed, and then dragged it free of his pants, shaking free of it and peeling his t-shirt over his head.

Wasn’t that what she’d wanted?
Yes.

Her breathing grew choppy at all the golden-hued skin laid open to her view, her touch. And as his lips took hers again, she stroked her palms over the patch of light brown hair on his chest, then over his wide shoulders layered with muscle.

She wanted—more. She wanted him inside her, moving.

His hand trailed upward beneath her shirt and found her bare breast. He seemed to know just how to touch her, how much pressure to exert as he kneaded and caressed her.

“I want your legs around me, Tess.” His voice sounded deeper, huskier.

She wanted them there too, but—Her father’s accusation, ‘
Are you sleeping with this guy?’
rose up to slap her out of her sensual haze. If she did this, he’d know. He already thought so little of her as a journalist … “We can’t—I can’t—”

Brett nibbled at the sensitive area between her shoulder and neck. She shivered and caught her breath. His heart was thundering again, but so was hers.

Tears stung her eyes. “I can’t, Brett.”

He froze, and for a moment continued just to cradle her breast in his hand. The warmth of his touch seeped into her flesh, and it took all her self-control not to move against it in response. His breath was hot against her shoulder, and her nerves seemed to quiver beneath that, too. She’d never been so aroused in her life.

He withdrew his touch, but continued to hold her. When he drew back, his cheeks were flushed and his pale eyes looked dark. The open expression of desire in his gaze triggered a rush of heat to her cheeks.

“I need to cool down a minute,” he said. He scooped up his shirt and disappeared down the hallway to her bathroom. A few seconds later she heard water running.

Tess clenched her hands and pressed them hard against her cheeks. “Damn it.” This couldn’t happen again. And why the hell did she feel like crying? This was what she wanted.

She’d apologize to him. She stepped toward the hallway and her foot kicked something soft ahead of her. Was that a ponytail scrunchy?  She bent and picked it up. The soft fabric spread out as she hooked her fingers in the elastic. A pair of black thongs spread damningly between her hands. What the— Shock hammered her heart. Color once again surged into her face hot on the heels of the anger that sang in her ears.

The whole time he’d been kissing her he’d had a trophy from some other woman, where? In his pocket? A sound, half screech, half growl thrust up into her throat, but she choked it back.

Apologize hell.

She was going to kill him.

CHAPTER 15

Jesus! His heart hammered, his face felt hot, and his dick pushed painfully hard against the zipper of his pants. Just touching her had almost been enough. If she’d even attempted to touch him, he’d have embarrassed himself. He’d never been this worked up over a woman.

Eleven months was too long. And then to have Tess kiss him, hold him like she was as hungry for him as he was for her. Oh, man. But why had she called a halt to things?

Brett splashed water on his face and slapped a wet washcloth to the back of his neck. He understood the professional distance she was trying to keep. It would probably be smart for him to maintain one, too. But as far as he was concerned, it was too late for that now.

He had to calm down so they could have a reasonable discussion about this, about
them.
He wiped his face with the washcloth, then set it aside. Disappointment thrummed through him as he buttoned his shirt and straightened his uniform. At least he presented an outward impression of calm and control. He dragged in several deep breaths before he opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall.

Something whizzed at him and hit him in the eye. It stung like hell. “What the—” He slapped one palm over his eye and snagged the object as it fell with the other hand.  He stared at the thing one-eyed taking in the color and texture of the fabric. Recognition struck him. “Oh, shit.”

“Damn you.” Tess stomped toward him. “How dare you come in here and kiss me like—like—”

For once he wasn’t the one looking for the right word. “Like I’ve been wandering in the desert for eleven months without a canteen and you were my first drink of water?”

 Her lips moved, but no sound emerged as she mulled that over. “But I wasn’t, was I? Otherwise you wouldn’t be running around with a thong in your pocket.” She stabbed a finger at the panties.

Was she jealous?  He studied her expression.
Oh yeah.
He fought off the urge to smile. “Yes, you are, and I can explain.”

She propped her hands on her hips. “Oh, I’m sure you can.” Her eyes narrowed.

He withdrew the envelope from his pocket. “This is what they came in. I had a speaking engagement at Giorgio’s before I came here. A valet at the restaurant handed them to me when I went out to get the car.”

“You’re obviously interested in the woman who left them for you. You kept them.” Tess folded her arms against her waist. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“No, I’m not interested in her. She’s just a kid. Sixteen, seventeen at the most. I’m not a pervert. I prefer adult women.” He approached her, caution in every step. Petty Officer Langley Marks said women were like landmines. You step on their feelings, and they’ll go off. Lang was almost always right. “Call the restaurant. Ask to speak to the skinny kid with the diamond in his ear. He’s the one who handed me the envelope.”

When she didn’t go to the phone, he stepped a little closer. “I didn’t smell like another woman, did I?”

Her cheeks grew red as another flood of color rose to her face. She swallowed and looked away. “It isn’t really any of my business who you smell like.”

Brett bit his lip to keep from smiling. He eased up close enough to invade her space. He touched her bare shoulder and breathed in her scent. “Tess … ”

“We can’t do this.” She took a step back. “You’re a source, and I’m a reporter. I’m not jeopardizing my professional reputation by getting involved with you.”

“It’s a little late to pull the professional distance card, honey. I already know what parts of you feel like naked.”

Her brown gaze narrowed and shot him a warning. “I mean it, Brett. We’re not going there. At least not together. And if the girl who gave you that thong is as young as you say, you’d be wise not to take her up on the offer. ”

He grasped her wrist and placed the thong and envelope in her palm. “You can do whatever you want with these. I’m holding out for a pair of yours.”

***

Clara focused the camera on the sun worshippers slick with oil. This angle made the reclining bodies line up like sardines in a can. That was what she was shooting for. Human sardines packed in oil.

She might not ever take another award-winning photo like the one when the kids were small, but the creative spirit she’d discovered through the lens of her camera pleased her. And everywhere she looked, there was something interesting to take a picture of.

Good thing she had something to occupy her time. With Zoe back at work, Hawk gone on a three-week training op, and Brett busy with the speaking engagements his CO kept giving him, she needed something to focus on.

Sweat trickled down her side as she lined up another shot. The dank, salty smell of the ocean brushed against her. The beach umbrellas fanned out like miniature Quonset huts all across the sand. Her cell phone rang and she fished in her pocket to retrieve it. She frowned at the unfamiliar number. It was a local exchange and a private number. She pushed the accept button.

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Weaver.”

The voice sounded unfamiliar. “Yes,” she replied tentatively.

“This is Evan Connelly.”

Clara bit her bottom lip. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to dismiss their meeting. She’d told herself he was ill and had tried to forgive and forget, but the ache remained.

“Yes.”

The sun beat down on the top of her head. A rivulet of sweat ran from her hairline down her cheek. The ocean breeze created a tunnel effect inside her cell phone, making it difficult to hear.

“I’m calling to apologize, Mrs. Weaver.”

Clara trekked up the beach to stand in the shade of one of the lifeguard stations and leaned back against one of the supports. The camera grew heavy in her hand.

“The way I acted, the way I treated you, and my father, was rude and uncalled for.”

She could agree, but it would just stir feelings she was determined to ignore. “You were tired and not feeling well, don’t think any more of it.” She’d just say good-bye and put it behind her.

“I appreciate your making excuses for my acting like a two-year-old.” The sound of him drawing a breath filled the silence across the line. “Mrs. Weaver, I’m trying hard to build a relationship with my father. We haven’t had a very good one in a long time. The way I treated you hurt and embarrassed you both. I’d really—really appreciate an opportunity to make it up to you, and to him.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me. You can just tell your father you called and apologized, and I accepted it.”

“That isn’t enough. I really need you to help me show him you don’t hold him responsible for my behavior.”

Would she have felt responsible for her adult children treating a guest badly? Probably. The pain she’d read in Russell Connelly’s features before she’d left the apartment came to mind. “I can call him and tell him myself, then.”

“I was hoping you’d agree to join us for dinner here at the apartment,” Evan said.

Did she really want to leave herself open to—?

“I promise to behave like an adult,” Evan continued.

She held the cell phone against her shoulder with her ear and pulled a tissue from her pocket to wipe the back of her sweaty neck.

“Please join us tomorrow night.”

Clara stuffed the tissue back into her pocket and leaned her head back against the wooden support. She closed her eyes a moment while she debated. Maybe if she accepted, she could really forget about it. Evan seemed sincere.

“What time?” she asked.

“Seven. Thank you, Mrs. Weaver.”

The relief she heard in his voice made it impossible to back out. “You’re welcome.”

“We’ll see you then. Good-bye.”

She murmured a good-bye and shut the phone. She was not going to stew about this. Or about Russell Connelly.

She had her own family to think about. Like Brett and his situation. And Zoe and her new job.  And Hawk being away for three weeks. And what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life.

Clara trudged back up the beach, camera in hand, scanning her surroundings for another shot.

***

Zoe dragged her thoughts away from the worrisome meeting she’d had earlier and studied her patient, Marine Corporal Crowes. He’d been reluctant to put on his prosthetic leg in front of her, so she’d helped him with it.

“Doesn’t that gross you out?” he asked.

She looked him in the eye and shook her head. “Not at all, Corporal.”

She’d studied his records last night. He had plenty of muscle in his thigh. His knee joint was still in good working order. He was receiving counseling to help him deal with the loss. With a little work, he’d be on his feet and moving on with his life in a few months.

But often the psychological pain was just as bad as the injury.  She understood that all too well. She made some notes in his file and gave him some time to study the other patients in the room as they went through their exercises. It didn’t hurt for him to see he wasn’t alone.

With a little urging, he gripped the parallel bars as though grasping a lifeline and dragged himself from the wheelchair. Zoe rushed to move the chair out of the way.