It's Always Been You (14 page)

“Look, it’s really easy to try and fall on your sword. The only one who ends up hurt by that is you.” He removed his hand from hers and the kiss of cool air sent a chill racing down over his palm. “Your convictions are going to get the better of you if you don’t temper them. The brigade commander isn’t interested in all the bad shit you’re going to see. You can’t recommend that he court-martial everyone. Pick your battles.”

He reached for her, his hand swallowing the thin bones of her wrist. Ben’s hand closed over her forearm. Heat penetrated her skin, pulsing through her blood. “I’m not telling you not to recommend prosecution. I’m telling you to pick your battles carefully or you’ll lose all of them.”

She pulled her arm free. “What battles did you lose?” she whispered, and her words struck him dead in the chest. She wanted to ask what happened to Escoberra after he’d been held responsible for the attack on their base. She wanted to know the things that kept him up at night.

She wanted to know Ben, the man in front of her. Not the commander. Not the man in the uniform.

The man behind the uniform.

“The wrong ones,” he said simply. He looked away, down at his glass. Just like that, the mood between them was once again filled with the dark ugliness of the war.

She swallowed a hard breath. “I can’t walk away from this, Ben. I can’t be strategic and try to figure out how to play this. Not this case. Not cases like it. I can’t.”

Ben studied her quietly. “Why is this so important to you?”

Her temper snapped. “Because someone has to do the right thing. Everyone always cares about the soldier. No one cares about the families.” Her voice was thick.

“You’re wrong,” he whispered.

* * *

He knew she thought he was protecting Escoberra out of blind loyalty. He knew what she saw when she looked at him—just another commander, playing fast and loose with the rules. But that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t.

But everything was so complicated.

Olivia deserved to know the truth, no matter how hard it was for him to resurrect enough to put into words. It was a truth he’d been avoiding for years, just like he’d been avoiding Escoberra.

“I resigned my commission after they hemmed Escoberra up for the attack,” he said quietly.

He closed his eyes against the physical pain of the memories.

He did not expect her fingers to slide over his. In the cool evening light, her touch was a beacon of warmth, of human connection.

“I was lying in the hospital when my battalion commander came and visited me. He told me what they were doing—that they were considering court-martialing Escoberra for the base attack. All because he pursued the enemy instead of holding his position.”

His body tensed involuntarily. Her fingers slid over his knuckles, a soothing gesture. So simple. So powerful.

“They said Escoberra failed to disseminate information about the attack. That they were holding him responsible for it.” He swallowed the bitterness that tightened at the back of his throat. “I told my commander if they did that, I would resign.” He couldn’t lift his gaze to look at her. He was terrified of what he might see.

“But you’re still here,” she whispered.

“Because after I resigned, my mother pulled in every favor she could to keep me in.”

“Your mother is in the army?”

He nodded. “Colonel Diane Teague is currently somewhere in the Pentagon’s puzzle palace.”

“She’s a colonel?”

“Yeah. A colonel with a lot of powerful friends in the right places. Which is how I’m still in the army.”

Finally he dared to meet her gaze. “I tried to resign in protest. Mom squashed that plan,” he said. “And now, here I am.”

“And now you’re staying,” she said.

He looked down at her hand where it covered his. Twisted his palm until it was flat beneath hers. His fingertips brushed the inside of her wrist.

“Escoberra adopted Hailey when she was nine.” He smiled warmly at the memory. “He used to bring her into the office when she was a little kid.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, stunned by how long ago that had really been.

He glanced over at Olivia and found her watching him silently. “I know you think he did this,” he said quietly. “But there’s got to be something else there. He loves that little girl. He wouldn’t do this, Olivia.”

Olivia looked away, her fingers drumming on the bar. Finally she slid the folder toward him. “I don’t know how to reconcile the man who did this with the man you describe.”

Cool fingers slid over his wrist. He looked down at her hand resting against his skin. Such a simple, loaded gesture.

It was a long time before Ben met her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she whispered. “I know you believe in him but there’s no other explanation for what happened. You can’t let this go, no matter how much he means to you.”

“I can’t do it, Olivia.” He looked down at their hands where hers still rested against his. “Maybe that makes me weak, maybe that makes me a horrible person, but I can’t believe he did this.” He bit his lips. “I’ve seen the pictures but there’s got to be something else that explains this. There has to be.”

“And what if there’s no other explanation,” she whispered. “What then, Ben?”

He met her gaze then, unable to look away from the quiet resolution in her eyes. The lack of judgment stunned him. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

* * *

The sun sank into the lake, casting pale shadows over his cheek. Her fingers rested against his wrist.

He sat still, completely motionless.

But when he moved, he stunned her.

He turned his palm over, threading his fingers with hers. Nothing more. Palm to palm, their skin connected in a way their bodies and souls never could be.

His hand was big. There were calluses on his palm and his fingertips were rough. But there was a gentleness in that touch.

She bent her fingers into his. A hesitant gesture.

She met his gaze.

“It hurts so fucking much to think this happened.” His big hand closed over hers. “But don’t mistake my silence for not caring,” he whispered. “Please don’t do that.”

She was so used to commanders not caring, so used to them doing whatever it took to win. The honest pain she saw in his eyes melted her defenses. Heated her blood and drove the longing in her blood to a fevered need.

She didn’t think. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek. The stubble from his five o’clock shadow was a soft scrape against her palm. “You’re an admirable person, you know that?” she whispered.

He scoffed gently. “Not quite.” He didn’t look away. “But thank you for saying so.”

She took a shuddering breath and released it before she looked down at the packet, at the bleak and empty night she faced writing up the charges against a man who might never see the inside of a jail for what he’d done.

Everything was so fucking corrupted and dark. When she looked at Ben and saw him watching her, she felt like she’d brushed up against something… something good.

“This is probably going to make me the biggest fool in the world,” she whispered. “But I’d very much like to go somewhere else. With you.”

Ben went very still. His eyes darkened. His bottom lip parted from his top. “Why?” he whispered. His voice was rough and thick.

“Maybe I need to remember something good in the world tonight,” she said. “Will you come home with me?”

* * *

“Olivia.”

He stepped close, too close. His shoulders blocked her view of the parking lot. They were secluded beneath a low willow tree. No one could see them.

She had time to change her mind. As she’d paid the bill and picked up her files, she could have changed her mind. But now, outside the restaurant, it wasn’t fear or uncertainty skittering over her skin.

It was arousal. Arousal that this man had followed her outside. That this man had backed her up against her car, his big body blocking out the world.

She wanted his touch. Wanted his hands on her, wanted his mouth.

Wanted to lose herself in the taste and touch and feel of him.

His lips hovered a breath from hers. Heat radiated from his skin. His breath mingled with hers but neither of them moved. A twisting, writhing dance of almost touches, of the barest caresses.

She dared to lift her gaze from that strong mouth that so often wore an easy grin to his eyes, those dark laughing eyes.

They weren’t laughing now. They were desperately serious, dark and hungry.

Now the barest space between them felt like an impassable chasm.

His fingertips brushed her cheek. The faintest touch. A kiss of sensation that traced pure electricity over her skin. Her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed and his gaze dropped to her neck. She was sensitive there. She almost closed her eyes and tipped her chin toward him. Almost.

For the life of her, she couldn’t say who moved first but between one moment and the next her top lip brushed against his. A whisper of sensation. A delicate gesture.

Those fingertips curled into her cheek.

“I want to kiss you so fucking bad,” he whispered.

His words vibrated over her lips. A wicked sensation that promised pleasure with every stroke of his tongue.

It was Olivia who moved then. Olivia who opened her mouth and slid her tongue over his bottom lip to taste him.

As if waiting for her permission, he slanted his mouth over hers. This, this was what she had been waiting for. This, the tacit feel of his touch, of the powerful man who held her in both hands as though she was something precious. This man was what she craved, what she needed to push away the darkness of her job and the evil she fought. His tongue danced with hers but it was his body that pressed into her, his body that overwhelmed her.

Her arms slid around his neck and she arched against him, just a little. A hint of what she needed. A taste of what she wanted.

But common sense was an ugly reality that would not be ignored.

It was Olivia who leaned back. “Do you have condoms?”

He made a soft sound against her neck. His breath was hot on the exposed skin and then the cool night air licked at the damp trail he traced with his tongue. “It’s part of my BII.”

She smiled, nudging his lips with hers again. “BII?”

“Basic Issue Items. I brought a box of them into my orderly room for my joes to grab before they go out on the weekends.” He tugged her closer, his hands dancing on her hips, his lips sucking gently on her ear. His voice whispered over her skin until she wasn’t sure where he ended and she began. “You should have seen my first sergeant’s face.”

“Priceless?”

“I think he almost had a heart attack.” He shifted until his hands were on either side of her neck. The car was cold against her back. “Can we please stop talking about work?” He caught her earlobe between his teeth, nipping gently.

“Yes please.” Her fingers spasmed against his sides.

He burned her then, branded her with a fierce kiss that rocked her to her very center, chasing away the last vestige of the darkness that had haunted her for the majority of the afternoon. Sucking, sipping kisses as he rocked gently against her, showing her with his body what he wanted. What she wanted.

What she craved.

She wanted mindless abandon. Passion and fury.

She felt him everywhere, his body hard where she was soft, demanding where she was a needy, hungry thing.

“Ben.” His name was a plea on her lips. A sensual demand.

He lifted his mouth from her neck. Cupped her cheeks in both hands. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her mouth.

Last chance
, her brain whispered. Last chance to reclaim her sanity and walk away from making a huge mistake with this man.

Instead, she curled her fingers around his neck. Pulled his mouth down to hers.

“You,” she whispered. “I want you.”

The door closed behind him. In the part of his brain that was still functioning, he heard the deadbolt click in the lock. Heard her keys hit the entryway table.

He’d followed her to her place. Letting her go, letting her get into her own vehicle had been fucking torture.

Because the riot he saw in her eyes made him step back from the ledge. He wanted her to be sure. Needed her to take that step toward him. Needed her to thread her fingers through his hair and kiss him. To remind him that this was okay. That it was okay for them to steal this quick moment of pleasure when everything was going to shit around them. He knew she was running from those packets, from work, from the cases that stood between them…

He wanted the same escape. Needed the human connection that would let him escape from the torment, the weight of the decisions he was supposed to make every single day.

The normalcy he felt right then was something he hadn’t felt since he’d been pulled into the commander’s office two weeks ago.

At that moment, he felt real and whole and alive.

There was no threat of abusing his power. No way to screw this up unless he underperformed.

He bit his lip, hard, needing the reminder that he could not screw this up. Something about her had drawn him to her, from that moment when he’d first plowed into her at the office.

She was fierce. She was loyal.

She was scarred.

* * *

The door closing was a finality. She could still change her mind. Still ask him to leave and keep her secrets, her scars to herself.

But Ben had trusted her. Tonight, it was her turn to trust him.

Fear slithered, cold and prickly, up her spine. She shivered, afraid to show him the physical reminders of her failure.

She hugged her arms around her waist, summoning her courage, shoving aside the doubt and the fear and the lingering insecurity that he would recoil from the marks on her body.

She felt the air stir as he stepped in front of her. Heat radiated off his body.

And then he cupped her face gently.

Urged her to open her eyes.

She tried to hide the fear, the uncertainty.

But one look in Ben’s eyes and she knew it was futile. Because he saw the truth she struggled so desperately to hide.

* * *

He didn’t know who had put the scars on Olivia Hale but they were there. He saw the ache in her eyes, saw the pain. He wanted to smooth that pain away but not if this wasn’t what she wanted.

Her lips curled as she stepped into his space, hooking her index finger beneath his uniform jacket and into his belt. His stomach jerked beneath her touch.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” She lifted her face to his, rising up to press her lips to the edge of his. He nuzzled her lips gently.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against her mouth. He sucked on her bottom lip, cradling her face in his palms. Absently, he traced her temple with one thumb.

Her eyes fluttered closed. “That feels so good,” she said.

Her voice whispered across his skin. His mouth went dry. He wondered when the last time was that she relaxed. Really relaxed.

And he had an idea. A way to get his hands on her beautiful body. A way to make her squirm beneath his touch. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“Down the hall. First door on the left.”

He lifted her then, a single movement that pulled her flush against him, bringing her into intimate contact. Her breath was a gasp as she wrapped her thighs around his waist. She didn’t protest when he padded across her carpet with his boots on. She simply nibbled along the edge of his jaw as he walked, her body sliding against his. Her teeth pinched the edge of his earlobe and sent an erotic thrill through his blood.

He crawled over her bed, lowering her to the grey and royal purple coverlet before he captured her mouth again. Her tongue danced with his, sliding along his and doing something that twisted up his insides.

She pushed up then, until he knelt over her. His breath caught in his throat when she slid her hands beneath his t-shirt and jacket, pulling his clothes free from his uniform trousers. “Olivia—”

She reached up, unzipping his jacket. Lifted his shirt to reveal the dark edges of the black ink that started at the seam of a wicked-looking scar. She wanted to ask. About the scar, about the intricate tattoos that wound over his shoulder and down his chest and the scars that looked like burns beneath the black ink. He could see those questions in her eyes and braced for them.

But she didn’t. And he was grateful because he didn’t know what he’d say. Instead she pressed her lips to his stomach, just above the waist of his pants. Next to the narrow scar on his abdomen. Her breath stirred the hair on his belly. It tickled her lips and she nuzzled him there.

His stomach tightened and he tensed at the tenderness of the gesture. Still, he didn’t move as she lifted her lips away from the sensitive skin near the scar and the ink. He couldn’t breathe as she unhooked his belt and flipped it open. Then the buttons. One by one, she opened his pants, pressing her lips to his skin, close to that damned scar that he hated and resented and wished he could carve from his skin.

She ran her fingers over the hard edges of his hip bones and Ben’s control nearly snapped. He eased back, out of reach of her hands and her teasing lips.

“We’re going to have a stunning disappointment to this evening if you don’t stop,” he said, taking her hands and lifting them over her head as he laid her back on the bed.

“Coward,” she whispered, but there was nothing but sensual heat in her words as she surrendered to his touch.

“Yep.” There was no shame in his answer. “My ego really couldn’t handle having a misfire right now.”

“As opposed some other, more opportune time?”

He laughed and pulled her jacket open. The zipper made a rasping sound as he slid it open, revealing the concave hollow of her belly beneath the same tan t-shirt he wore. “There really isn’t a good time for that,” he said.

He framed her stomach with his palms, sliding them higher, higher, pushing her shirt up, exposing the edge of her bra. It was functional, pale beige in soft, soft cotton and he’d never seen anything sexier. He tugged and she shifted, rocking and twisting until she’d shrugged out of her uniform top and t-shirt.

And waited.

* * *

Time was a frozen, shimmering thing as his eyes traced over the scars on her body, clearly visible now that she was stripped bare.

Her breath locked in her throat and it took everything she had to keep from crossing her arms over her stomach.

He dropped to his knees in front of her.

Cradled her ribs gently in his hands.

“Tell me about these,” he whispered.

She pressed her lips together in a flat line, her eyes stinging as the memories struggled to escape.

“My father,” she said. “He died from a mixture of painkillers and alcohol.” She looked away.

“He hit you,” Ben whispered. She closed her eyes, unwilling to see the pity in his eyes at her painful admission.

The silence was heavy and thick and filled with so many questions. Neither of them moved.

Then she felt it. The gentle slide of his thumb over the largest scar on her rib. A gentle kiss where his thumb had been. A shiver ran through her as he traced the scar with the tip of his tongue.

She summoned her courage and looked down.

Her gaze collided with his and the patient desire she saw looking back at her slammed into her. Her breath shook in her lungs. Trembled before it escaped.

“That’s nice,” she whispered when she could speak. She scraped her fingernails through his scalp. She tugged and urged his mouth to hers. And she lost herself in the powerful arousal in that kiss.

* * *

When she kissed him, he forgot his own name. “Those pants have got to go,” she said, using her boots to push them down his hips.

He wanted them gone, wanted to feel the sensual slide of skin on skin. Wanted to feel her thighs wrap around his waist as he slid inside her and watch her face as he started to move.

The waist of his underwear caught on his erection. “Ow, stop!” he said with a laugh. He lurched backward, his body missing the heat from her skin. “I’ll do it. Before you unman me.”

She sat up and laughed, unlacing her own boots and shucking her own uniform pants. It was strange sitting on her bed, pulling his boots off as she stripped off her own uniform. Everything about this felt surreal. Strangely rational and sexual all at once.

He’d never imagined he would see her relax or that it would be his touch that pushed away her stiff exterior to reveal the sensual woman underneath. She was a live wire, complex and sinfully erotic standing there in her panties and bra. He had the sudden urge to see her in his t-shirt. He wanted to see the edge of the fabric brushing against her upper thighs. He wanted to push it higher, to reveal the sweetness at the center of her.

Instead he simply sat for a moment, reveling in this soft and sexy side of Olivia Hale that unlocked something he’d thought he’d put away for good.

This was something secret. Something special. This was something she would deny in the harsh light of day because it didn’t fit into her personal save-the-world narrative. But right then, Ben could live with being something secret.

He wanted this woman.

He leaned down to shuck his own boots. Her arms slid around his waist from behind. Her palms folded against his heart, beating its fierce, wild rhythm beneath her hands. His skin burned him where she touched him over the black tattoos that covered his heart, and he braced for the questions.

They didn’t come. The intimate gesture was nothing more than a simple touch. A touch from one lover to another.

Ben paused for a moment. Savored the feel of her breath on his back. The softness of her hair on his spine. The casual weight of her arms around his waist was an erotic comfort. There was a warmth in that touch that unnerved him.

This was something powerful. And he’d be damned if he was going to screw it up.

* * *

His back was smooth and hard against her exposed skin, his skin hot against hers. She folded her hands together over his heart and rested her cheek against the solid wall of his back. He stilled. Then his hands came up to close over hers. It was a quiet gesture. A connection in the midst of casual sex that spoke of something deeper.

Something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

She pressed her lips along the edge of the black art that ran the entire line of his spine. Felt him stop breathing as her tongue flicked over a spot. She scraped her teeth over his back and his hands tightened over hers. A surge of power rocked through her as the man trembled beneath her touch. She licked again.

He dropped his head back, exposing his throat. She pushed up onto her knees, licking his throat. She sucked gently at the edge of his jaw, then ran her tongue along the sensitive tip of his ear. A gentle tasting. He let her take the lead, let her set the pace, and she fell a little harder for the man in her bed.

Monday at work would be awkward but she’d deal with that then.

He released her hands as she slid around his body and into his lap. His hands scooped her bottom and pulled her closer.

“No regrets, Olivia?” he whispered.

She traced her fingertips over his cheeks. “No.” She bussed her lips against his. “I need this,” she breathed.

He stood and crawled onto the bed, lowering her beneath him. He braced himself on his elbows. “I want to make this good for you.”

Her lips curled of their own accord. “As opposed to just bending me over and having your way with me?”

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. The laugh tore out of him and shook through his big body. “I cannot believe you just said that,” he said when he could breathe again.

“You’re not the only one who can make jokes,” she said.

“I like your sense of humor when you’re mostly naked,” he whispered. “It’s so fucking sexy.”

She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his fingers tracing her cheeks. It made her feel cherished. Protected.

Valued.

“It’s better for me at work if people are wary of me.”

“I think you’re scary at work.” He brushed his nose against hers. “But after tonight, I’m just going to picture you like this.”

“As long as you don’t tell anyone.” She licked his bottom lip then captured it in her teeth with a gentle tug. “Can we stop talking?”

He traced tiny kisses over her lips, her jaw. He captured her hands, sliding them up over her head. Held them with one of his hands while he explored her body with slow, languid strokes.

Who would have known Ben Teague was a thoughtful lover? But somewhere along the line, thoughtful transformed to heat and heat to passion. Her blood sang with his touch. Arched beneath his lips as his fingertips slid down her arms and over her ribs.

He slipped her bra free and lifted it away from her body.

And watched his eyes darken when he saw the scars tracing over her ribs and down her right side.

Her mouth went dry as his gaze took in the damage to her body. “I’ve thought about getting a tattoo to cover them,” she whispered.

His fingers danced over the mottled flesh, the gnarled ramifications of a failed decision.

“Tell me,” he said. His voice was deadly calm, steel beneath ice.

She cradled his face in her hands. “It’s not important,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth to protest and she kissed him. Claimed his tongue, his mouth, his breath. Stole coherent thought and the rage that she saw building in his eyes.

They were new lovers. The anger in his eyes shouldn’t have been there. Not this quickly.

But Ben had a strange sense of justice. He was the kind of man who would lie to let a kid get a benefit he’d been a few weeks from earning. It might have been wrong to the letter of the law but in Ben’s world, it was just.

In Olivia’s, it was enough that he cared. For his men. For his unit.

For her.

There was care in his touch now as his fingers slid down her body, hooking in her panties and sliding them down her hips.