Men of Courage II (19 page)

S
HE WAS BACK
.
To stay.

It shouldn’t have mattered to Wyatt, he’d have sworn it never would, but here in the moment, holding her trembling body to his like the past ten years had never happened, like they were still in love, like she hadn’t crushed his heart and shattered his idealistic view of romance, shook him. Shook him deeply.

He’d long ago stopped thinking about her, missing her, but now time seemed to evaporate, and he stared down at her in the lantern’s glow. “I don’t think I’m going to like you being back.”

“I know.” Her lashes swept along her high cheek
bones as she shut her eyes, hiding from him. Her naked lips, always full and kissable, parted slightly, and he forced his gaze off them.

If she’d started out the day fully made-up for the camera, and he suspected she had, every ounce of it had long been washed away. His gut clenched at that, and what could have happened to her on deck.

Then she opened her eyes and met his. “Coming back here, to Denton, I didn’t think about how it would affect me. Or you. Didn’t think about it because there wasn’t time…” A spasm of pain crossed her features. “I really needed to be here,” she whispered. “Badly. So badly that even if I’d known I’d hurt you, I’d still have come.”

“There’s a lot you’re not saying, Leah.”

“I know.”

He’d told himself a hundred times today he didn’t care, and yet he stroked her drying hair off her face and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Still cold.”

“I meant…New York. Were you hurt?”

Again she closed her eyes.

Shutting him out, damn it. He was such an idiot, doing this. He’d sworn he wouldn’t and yet holding her, feeling the shivers that still occasionally wracked her, he knew he was screwed. He could talk to himself until he was blue. It didn’t matter. Everything he’d once felt
for her was shoving its way to the surface regardless. Shaken to the core, he jerked away from her as far as he could in the small cot and still share body heat, which wasn’t that far. He was done—he’d given her all he had—and now he was spent.

She let out a soft sound of distress and he hardened himself against it. Outside, the storm continued to batter the boat. Inside, everything churned just as violently.

For something to do, he reached down to the floor and grabbed the emergency pack he’d rescued from the galley. Because he wasn’t completely heartless, he unwrapped a power bar and handed it to her. She sank her teeth into it, stroking her tongue over her lower lip to catch a crumb, and damn if something deep inside him didn’t get all hot and trembly.

He had to shake his head. Never again, he reminded himself. Her tongue was never again going to be anywhere near his. He needed to remember that.

But then she took another bite, hummed out a little “mmm,” and Wyatt heard a rushing in his ears.

She offered him a bite. Leaning in, he opened his mouth, eyeing her as he did, wondering if he was doing anything to her, anything even close to what she was doing to him.

“Do you think the lantern will last?” she asked.

Probably not. He lifted a shoulder, not wanting to lie to her.

She looked at him for a long moment. “What are the chances of us dying out here?”

“We’re not going to die.”

“No.” She pressed just a little closer. A strand of her hair caught on the stubble of his chin. Her eyes never left his, and though fear still lurked, she was calm. “Not on your watch.”

“Damn right.”

She let out a warm little breath that blew over his lips and made him shudder with more memories—lying with her just like this, his hands all over her, bodies entwined.

“You always were a take-charge kind of guy,” she murmured. “Remember our senior prom? There was a storm then, too, and the lights went off. You rigged the generator and saved the night.”

And after the dance, they’d sneaked out to the lake and made love beneath the stars.

“Wyatt…”

God, the way she said his name. Around them the crazy wind whipped, huge hail pelted the windows, while adrenaline raced through him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and he knew. She was remembering, too. She was going to kiss him and he wouldn’t resist. In fact, when she touched her lips to the very corner of his and nibbled softly, he let out a rough groan of sorrow, of frustration, of need, and clamped her head in his hands, properly lined them up, opening his mouth over hers.

A take-charge kind of guy she’d called him. He sure as hell wasn’t feeling in charge of himself as he dove right in. With a low throaty moan, she was right there with him, her tongue sliding along his, making him quiver like a damn teenager. She tasted like forgotten dreams and missed chances, and though he could hardly stand it, he couldn’t pull away. And he didn’t, not until they needed to come up for air, and then they stared at each other in mutual shock.

Breathing unsteadily, she let out a sigh filled with pleasure, and reached for him again, eyes already closed, lips wet and parted….

And though his body protested greatly, he managed to hold back.

Slowly she opened her eyes, the shiny green orbs filled with a question.

One he had no answer for.

He had to be crazy not to give in and warm up in the good old-fashioned way, but his brain had finally kicked into gear. “Bad idea.”

“But—”

He settled a finger on her lips. “No buts.” A mistake, touching her in any fashion, but he had to make her understand. “You’re hard on my mental health, Leah.”

She frowned and ran her hand up his chest.

Even that little movement was sexy enough to make
him want to cave. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “Look, we’re over. Ten years over.”

“Things change.”

He shook his head, letting out another ragged groan when she pressed her heat-seeking body tighter to his. “Leah.” God. He dropped his forehead to hers, fisting his hands to keep them off her. “If you cared for me at all—”

“I did, you know I did—”

“Then stop.
Please,
” he added very quietly and closed his eyes, hoping to God she was listening, because his body, hard and aching and plastered to hers, sure wasn’t.

“I
JUST THINK WE SHOULD TALK
about it,” Leah said softly. “About our past.” The boat tilted roughly and she clung to him. “I
need
to talk about it,” she added desperately.

Again they rocked, so that they nearly fell out of the cot, but he held them in. Leah let out a worried whimper, and with a sigh, he tightened his grip on her. “Shh, it’s okay.” He stroked a hand down her slim spine, and again the inner kick came from just touching her. He could only imagine if he tried touching her anywhere else. It was bad enough that, pressed against him, he could feel her breasts, her belly, her thighs….

No. Bad. Stick to the situation: tornado conditions,
trapped on a houseboat with the last woman on earth he would choose to be stuck with and no rescue happening tonight.

At least she wasn’t shivering as violently anymore, and neither was he. Hell, he was beginning to feel like he was in a sauna.

“Wyatt? Do you remember our first date?”

Hell, yes. She’d been the hottest thing in his English Lit class, and just a little snooty, which for some sick reason had turned him on. It hadn’t been until later he’d realized she wasn’t stuck up at all, but shy.

They’d gone to dinner, and had been in the middle of dessert when a tornado warning had come through, and for two hours they’d huddled with twenty others in the diner’s cellar. It’d been cold and dark and she’d cuddled up to him, shaking and scared.

He’d been in heaven.

“We were stuck in that horrible, damp cellar for so long, no electricity. You started talking to me to keep me sane.”

“I remember.” Damn it.

“You told me how your father was recovering from his terrible trucking accident, how you’d walked away without a scratch. You felt bad,” she whispered.

“I said I remember.”

“I told you my mother had left my father and me, and you said your mother had died when you were a baby. I felt like we were kindred spirits, Wyatt.”

“Leah.” Her hair was poking him in the eyes and he stroked the silky strand away. “We don’t need to relive it. We had something good but then something else, something better came along for you and you were gone.”

“There was nothing better than you.” She let out a breath. “I’m sorry if I ever let you think otherwise.”

“Then why did you walk away so completely that we haven’t even run into each other, not once in all this time?”

She dropped her gaze, staring at his throat. “Because I told myself that my past didn’t matter. That I was making something of my here and now, and that was all I needed.”

“So what changed?”

Dark, haunting emotions flickered across her face and she swallowed hard. “A lot.”

He wasn’t going to go down this road. Wasn’t going to let whatever had gotten to her affect him now. “Maybe. But as you once decided, what we had no longer matters.”

“But I was wrong. It
does
matter, especially if you’re still angry.”

Well she had him there. “Leah. I don’t want to do this. I can’t do this.”

The admission made him want to cut out his tongue but she put her hand on his chest, looked right into his eyes and said, “I knew the day I left that I’d hurt you. I’d hurt myself. I don’t expect you to believe me, but I
went on hurting for a long time. As for the job, I loved it, and because I did, it soothed the ache that I got when I thought of Denton, my father, you. My job as a reporter, traveling to every corner of the earth, was everything to me.” Her lips twisted wryly. “For a long time, anyway.” Her eyes clouded now. “It satisfied my curiosity, my hunger, my drive. Everything.”

“Good for you.”

“Until the end.”

He didn’t want to see the fear and hurt in her eyes. He wanted to hold on to his righteous anger.

“I’d gone to Somalia for a story on orphans,” she said very quietly, “and fell in love there.”

He tried, unsuccessfully, not to feel the gut ache at that.

“Eli was three years old.”

Wyatt blinked, hating himself for the relief that she’d meant a child. Until her next words.

“He died of AIDS in my arms.”

The pain made her voice soft yet serrated, and he had to lean close to hear her as she continued.

“I’d seen death before, of course. Too much of it. This was far more personal than all that. It put a chink in my armor, but I didn’t have time to think too much because I had to go directly to Tel Aviv, to some international press event. I was preparing to load a bus filled with members of the press, my colleagues and friends.”

He had a very bad feeling about this and opened his
mouth to say something, though he had no idea what he could possibly put out there to ease the pain in her voice.

“I’d been held back by a cell call that had irritated me,” she continued before he could speak. “A New York friend wanting to say happy birthday, and to hear her I’d stepped back into the hotel.” She let out a harsh laugh. “I’d practically forgotten it was my birthday, and I wanted to blow her off because the bus driver was waving at me to hurry. I could see the bus was filled to the limit, and I was worried about where I’d sit. As I disconnected, the bus exploded from a planted bomb. Parts blew into the hotel, shattered windows. I was cut up, but the brick wall of the building protected me.” She closed her eyes. “Everybody died.” Her breathing was the only sound in the room. “Except for me, of course. I didn’t die. I only wanted to.”

“God, Leah.” His arms tightened around her. He remembered reading about the tragedy, seeing it on TV, but they’d never released the name of the one reporter who’d lived, and he’d had no idea. If he’d thought he hadn’t known what to say to her before, now he felt flummoxed. “I want to say I’m sorry but—”

“But the word is woefully inadequate, I know.” She shook her head. “The thing is, I didn’t have more than a few scratches on me, and I couldn’t get that to make sense. It screwed me up. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t work.”

“So you left New York.”

“And so I left New York.”

He found it interesting that she’d come here, a place she’d once run from as fast as she could. He might have even said so but a gust of wind hit the boat hard, whistling through the windows with so much velocity, he was surprised they didn’t shatter. Instinctively he tucked Leah closer to him, palming her head in his hand, covering her with his body.

When the wind lessened slightly, he took a breath and let go of her.

Leah’s smile was a bit tremulous. “Even now, you protect me.”

“It’s my job.”

“It’s more.”

His heart squeezed because he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to her, or dwell on what could have happened, but he was. The thought of how close she’d come to death scared him in a way he hadn’t known he could be. But that didn’t mean there could be something between them again. “Maybe some things never truly die in your heart,” he conceded. “But my brain knows better. I moved on. Completely. I’m sorry for what you went through. I’m so damned sorry, but—”

“But you moved on. Yeah, I hear you.” Eyes dark and
unreadable, her thigh nudged against the unmistakable bulge behind his clinging knit boxers.

“I did move on,” he repeated harshly, the part of him in question twitching. “Look, we’re stuck in an unusual circumstance that I wish to hell we weren’t, but there’s nothing I can do about it. We’re fighting hypothermia, we’re exhausted, and frankly, we’re having normal bodily reactions to the situation.”

“We?”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah,
we.
I’m hard as a steel beam, and so are your nipples, sweetheart.”

“I’m cold,” she reminded him.

“So that kiss did nothing for you?”

“It was just a short little one….”

Short and little, huh? He skimmed his fingers along her back, to her ass, squeezing before he could stop himself. Then he slid his fingers down a little, until they met in the middle over purple satin. Purple
wet
satin that had nothing to do with the violent spring storm still raging outside.

She didn’t kick him, as he half anticipated. She didn’t rail at him, or pull his hair, or do anything else he deserved.

Instead she planted her palms on his chest, arched into him and let out the sexiest little sigh he’d ever heard. It used to be when he kissed and touched her she’d make that sound and he’d have to physically pull back and recite the alphabet in order not to lose it in his pants. But
that had been when he was nothing more than a horny teenager—which didn’t explain his current situation.

Sleep. Though
he
couldn’t sleep in this situation, she could, and should. He opened his mouth to tell her so and instead said, “Purple satin and white lace. Lethal combination.”

In answer, she opened her legs, giving him better access, making him realize how intimately he was still touching her, that his fingers were even now slowly stroking up and down, outlining her every dip and curve, spreading the hot wetness—

He jerked back as if he’d been licked by fire.

Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her eyes clouded with desire. She wet her lips as if parched, maybe for him. His body reacted to that, and when she made a little sound of appreciation in her throat, he knew she’d noticed. “Maybe when we wake up it will all be just a bad dream,” he said, sounding a little desperate to his own ears.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” he lied and closed his eyes.

“Wyatt.”

He didn’t answer.

“Wyatt.”

He was feigning sleep, Leah knew it. Or maybe he could really sleep through this—she had no idea. She
waited for her sensible inner voice to tell her what to do, but it had deserted her.

Outside the storm still raged on and on, while inside this small bunk room, buffered only by wool blankets and their own private thoughts, a storm of entirely another kind raged. Wyatt was breathing deeply, his hard chest against her hand, his hot mouth closed now, but when she thought about how it felt on hers, she got warm all over again. “Wyatt, do you really believe we’ll be able to forget tonight?”

Nothing.

His lashes were inky black smudges on his tanned skin, and even though she knew he couldn’t possibly be asleep, she didn’t say another word.

She couldn’t, because just being this close to him took her breath. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and probably not yesterday either, but the light, rough growth didn’t detract from the strong jaw. She noted fondly his slightly crooked nose, which he’d broken playing all-state point guard in his senior year. Fine laughter lines bracketed the mouth she’d just kissed as if she needed him more than air.

And she had needed him. She’d had no idea how much or how thoroughly she’d closed herself off, but lying here like this, so close to the only man she’d ever come close to letting in her heart, was both unexpectedly painful and joyous at the same time. It was as if
everything within her had opened at the sight of him, and she couldn’t stop the floodgates of emotion. Not even his abruptness or frustration could change that. And when he’d tried to scare her off by touching her, he’d only accomplished the opposite, because now they both remembered exactly how explosive their physical relationship had been.

Could still be. That deep, soulful kiss they’d just shared hadn’t been any simple release of adrenaline, or even a way to escape from fear. Yes, she was frightened, and yes, she felt safe in his arms, trusting even, that he would do everything in his power to get them through this, but the kiss had been about much, much more than that.

The boat continued to rock and shift, and when another gust hit them hard, the boat protested the abuse with a loud groan, making her gasp.

Wyatt tightened his arms on her. “I’m right here,” he murmured.

Not “it’s all right,” she noticed, because he wouldn’t lie to her. They weren’t all right. But he was here for her.

He opened his eyes. They were as hot and deep as always, and she nearly fell into them as he stroked a strand of hair from her cheek. He looked halfway tortured to be holding her like he was. Halfway tortured and halfway accepting, with a dash of arousal to go with it.

A devastatingly sexy combination. “I’m sorry,” she
whispered and cupped his face, running her thumbs over the rough stubble on his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

“Being here isn’t your fault.”

“But our past was.” She held his face when he would have turned away. “Wyatt…I don’t want anything bad between us anymore.”

“It isn’t. It’s over.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s been over since the day you left,” he said quietly. “So don’t apologize now.”

“I’m not apologizing for leaving town as I did, that would be a lie. We both know I wanted to go—I had to go. What I’m sorry about, really sorry about, is that I hurt you.”

“I guess I just never understood why it had to be over. It seemed like a careless destruction of something that was…” He closed his eyes. “You know what? Forget it.”

“No, I can’t. I won’t.” She waited until he opened his eyes again, which now so carefully shielded his thoughts from her that it broke her heart. “Oh, Wyatt. I ran out of Denton like a bat out of hell. You have to understand—for so long, it was all I ever dreamed of.”

“I know.”

“New York was…”

“Leah, I
know.
You always said you were going. I got that, I got why. You needed to make something of your
self, see the world. Believe me, I never intended to hold you back.”

“I never told you all of it.” It’d been wrong not to, but back then she hadn’t had the words. “You know that my mother left when I was ten.”

He made a sound of regret. “I didn’t know how young you were.”

“Fourth grade. She took me to school that morning, as usual. But instead of going to work, she let the movers into our house. She took everything: her clothes, the art on the walls, the furniture, everything. Except the photos.” She stared at his jaw. “She didn’t want those.”

He stroked a hand down her back and the gesture warmed her in a way nothing else could have.

“You’ve never heard from her?”

“Not once in all these years.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”