Night Hush (17 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­Seven

September 6. 3:30
P.M.

FOB Hollow Straw, al-­Zadr Air Force Base

J
ACE EASED OPEN
the door and shut it just as quietly. He saw Heather at once. She was curled up tightly on the sofa, eyes screwed shut, her deep breathing telling him she was fast asleep. She wore his T-­shirt, which suffused him with an absurd pleasure. It had ridden up around her waist, and he took a moment to admire the scrap of peach silk molded to her perfect derriere. She shifted in her sleep, and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth stomach.

It would be as close to paradise as someone like him would ever get to make love to her. To lose himself in her heat, to have her come so hard and so long she forgot who she was. However, he breathed deeply, knowing it was not going to happen. At least not tonight. Heather was still processing her capture and interrogation. Right now, she was vulnerable, and he would be the worst kind of bastard if he were to take advantage. So, he would take care of her, make sure she was healthy and stable, and then he would drive her home. End of chapter.

That didn't mean he couldn't look his fill, though. Heather was truly beautiful. At five-­foot-­ten, she was just two inches shy of his own six feet. Her impossibly long legs emphasized her slender build, but her breasts lifted round and tempting. His fingers itched to shape them, taste them.

She shifted, a frown marring her delicate features. Her long hair slid across her shoulders to cascade down her arm, tucked up under her cheek. She jerked, mumbling something incoherent. And then cried out, a sharp sound of fear, tucking her head and bringing her hands and knees up to protect herself.

Without thinking, Jace crossed to the sofa and dropped to his knees beside her. He gathered her into his arms, only realizing his error when she began to thrash in earnest, uttering little guttural cries that tore at his heart.

“Shh,” he said. “You're safe. It's Jace. Wake up, baby.”

Her eyes flew open. They were huge in her pale face, wild and disoriented. She strained away from him, managing to free one arm and clocking him upside the head. Ouch.

He trapped both her arms by simply wrapping one of his around them. The other he used to smooth her hair back from her face. “Heather. You're safe. You're home.” He continued to speak to her, pouring all the calm reassurance he could into his voice. It took quite a few seconds, but he watched as she slowly came back to the present. Jace saw the moment she recognized him.

“Jace.”

“I'm here, baby. I've got you.” She wriggled her arms, and he loosened his grip. “You were having a nightmare.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. “Apparently I'll be having a lot of them over the next few months. The shrink said . . . well, he said I should expect them for a while.”

Jace couldn't stop himself from reaching out and touching her cheek. She turned her face into his palm. And his heart did a slow flip.

Fighting his desire to pull her more completely into his arms, to hold her, to reassure himself she was safe, and whole, and alive, he forced himself instead to back away, to go sit in the easy chair next to the couch. Hurt flashed through her eyes, quickly hidden as she sat up and swung her legs to the floor, only then noticing her lack of pants. She pulled his shirt down—­it was huge on her—­and smoothed it over her thighs as best she could; and Jace watched, fascinated, as color rose in her cheeks.

Heather cleared her throat. “Thank you for letting me stay here and rest. It was kind of you. I'll change and head back to my apartment.”

He wasn't ready for her to leave.

“How about you go change, and I take you to an early dinner? It's quarter of four.” Maybe he could persuade her to come back here with him afterward. “Or better yet, what if I whip you up a ­couple of my famous grilled cheese sandwiches? After I go buy cheese, that is. And bread.”

Heather shook her head, a faint smile there and gone so fast he might have imagined it. “I'm sure you have more important things to do . . .”

“I have a few hours free.”

Standing abruptly, Heather started to move away; then stopped as she realized his T-­shirt, while huge over her thin frame, barely covered the tops of her thighs. She tried to pull it down, which only made the fabric stretch tight across her breasts. Jace's mouth was suddenly dry.

She sat back down, which was a shame. Dragging his gaze back up to her face, Jace knew he had failed to hide his hot flash of desire when her eyes widened, and her lips parted on a tiny gasp. She folded her arms across her breasts.

Jace looked away, slightly ashamed of his blatant staring. “Sorry.”

“No, I'm . . . I shouldn't have . . .” She exhaled hard. “Jace. You have to know. I can't sleep with you. So if that's the only reason . . .”

“It's not.” Jesus. What kind of man did she think he was? “That's not even on the table. Just dinner, okay? No pressure.” At her skeptical look, he held up both hands in surrender. “You will never have to be afraid of me, Heather. I'm serious. I'd cut off my own arm before I'd hurt you. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that.” Should he back away? Put more distance between them? “I'm really sorry if I . . .”

“Don't be an ass.”

What? “I'm just trying to reassure you that I . . .”

She sliced a hand through the air, cutting him off. “Stop it. I mean it.” She was annoyed. No, he realized, looking at her. She was pissed. Why?

“I'm not some idiotic swooning debutante. I'm a twenty-­six-­year-­old officer in the United States Army. Stop treating me like a fragile hothouse flower that's going to disintegrate if you look at me the wrong way.” She glared at him, planting her hands on her hips, which served to make his T-­shirt ride up again. It was distracting as hell. He had to work hard to keep his eyes on her face. “Stop treating me like a damned victim.”

Oops. Her words finally penetrated. He stood, hands hanging at his sides, silent; because, really, what could he say? She was right.

She had handled their flight from the camp, in truth, better than many male soldiers he knew. Strong, disciplined, determined . . . there had been no whining, no complaining, no self-­pity. Even battered, with internal injuries and a concussion, she had followed his lead, not merely allowing her rescue but participating in it.

“I can't go back to work until the shrink clears me.” At first, Heather's words made no sense. How had they gotten here? “If I start thinking, even for one second, that I'm impaired, that I'm weakened, I risk becoming a victim. I refuse to be a victim. I'm a survivor.” She glared at him. “So stop being so damned careful around me. Stop tiptoeing, stop apologizing. Just stop.”

Silence settled around them. Heather continued to glare, obviously waiting for some sort of response.

He cleared his throat. “Guilty as charged.”

She seemed to be waiting for more. Jace wracked his brain. What else did she want?

“I've never met a woman like you,” he said at last. “So forgive me if I don't exactly know how I'm supposed to act around you. If you were a man, someone from my team who'd been through a rough time, I'd take you out and get you shit-­faced, then I'd start a brawl in some dive so you could work out your anger. That work for you?”

Exhaling a laugh, Heather just shook her head.

“No? In that case, why don't we just go to dinner and forget all this for a while?” Jace would do anything to erase those shadows from her eyes. Whatever she said, however she saw herself, he couldn't forget her terror when she believed he was going to kill her, when she thought they might leave her behind, when the second band of insurgents had cut them off. Was it wrong for him to want to keep her safe?

If so, he was content to be wrong.

Heather abandoned her aggressive stance, walking away from him instead. She headed toward the staircase. “All right. Dinner.”

Jace allowed himself to watch her as she climbed the stairs. Damn, she had a body that didn't quit. Her lithe grace hypnotized him. Just watching her walk was a treat. How the men of her unit were able to concentrate with her around boggled his mind. He didn't know if he, consummate professional that he was, would be able to do it. Knowing he was being sexist and unfair didn't change how he felt.

This intense awareness wasn't one-­sided. The attraction was mutual. With a little effort, he could talk her into bed. That wasn't ego talking—­well, okay, maybe it was—­it was experience. But he wasn't interested in a one-­night stand with her, or even a short-­term affair. Jace wanted her in his life, and that scared the hell out of him.

He was lousy relationship material. He knew that. Delta Force rarely stood still. They were, in fact, constantly in flux. Shorter missions from units Stateside; longer-­term deployments like the one his unit was currently on, using the forward air base as a staging area for quick response missions. Most relationships failed within a year or two, the wives and girlfriends unable to handle the long absences, the total secrecy. Even if he wanted to share his experiences with Heather, he couldn't. Heather, at least, would understand the intricacies of his chosen profession. Would she be able to deal with it? Was she interested in trying?

She came back down the stairs, dressed in her own clothes. As he ushered her out the door, he wondered at the hard knot twisting in his gut.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Eight

September 6. 4:00
P.M.

Officers' Club, al-­Zadr Air Force Base

J
ACE WAS DETERMINED
to be a charming companion. He'd been told he could be funny, intelligent, and even a gentleman. Chivalry was all but dead in modern society. Men rarely held doors for women any longer, or let them off an elevator before pushing their way on, or any of the other little courtesies women of previous generations had enjoyed. He suspected Heather hadn't paid much attention either way; she struck him as probably more interested in being accepted as an equal in a male-­dominated field. But she did not pull away from the hand he placed at the small of her back as the hostess led them to a small table at the far end of the dining room, or wince as Jace held her chair for her.

This area of the Officers' Club was casual and breezy, decorated with seascapes and large paddle fans stirring the air. It was nothing like the formal dining room, with its heavy wood and gold scrollwork. Sure, the fishing net and painted starfish might have been a little hokey, but it had a charm and comfort Jace liked, and a fabulous view. Huge windows spanned the west wall, showing a sweeping valley leading to high, jagged mountain peaks in the distance. Sunsets were truly spectacular. This time of day, it was virtually deserted; too late for the lunch crowd, too early for dinner.

Jace forked a mouthful of his fettuccine. “Mm. This is good.” He grinned at her. “So what brought you to the Army?”

Heather toyed with her salad. “College,” she said, then shrugged. “My parents had different plans for me, that's for sure. I am a great disappointment to them. But I saw
G.I. Jane
when I was ten, and that was it for me. I watched every war movie I could get my hands on. There were no female role models, you know? Not as soldiers. Sure, there was Wonder Woman and Buffy, but they weren't real. So I decided to be the role model. Show those young girls out there that they could be like G.I. Jane, too.” She gave a crooked grin. “My parents wouldn't support my choice, so it was either scholarships or public school.”

Jace cocked his head at her. “So where did you end up?”

“Public school. New York. As far from home as I could get. You?”

“Colorado School of Mines.” He sipped his iced tea. “Had a view not dissimilar to this one.” He gestured out the windows. “ 'Course, the base of Mines' foothills are covered in trees. Beautiful in the fall.”

Heather looked a little wistful. “It sounds like it. I think I've forgotten what a real tree looks like. I'm trying to decide where I want to go after my tour here is up; maybe Colorado or Washington State.”

What about North Carolina? Jace closed his mouth over the words. Heather was ambitious, that much was clear. Even suggesting she follow him home . . . and even if she did, what on earth would he do with her? He was gone more often than not.

And yet, when he was with her, a tiny part of him yearned to put down roots.

“I want to go somewhere where I can really make a difference, you know?” she was saying. “God help me if I get stuck in the bowels of the Pentagon, or at some huge post where I'm a staff officer and not doing any real work.” She twitched a shoulder in self-­deprecation. “Ego aside, I'm actually sort of decent at my job. And I love supporting the Special Forces. What I do, what I figure out, helps my guys plan their missions better. Keeps them safer. How can any career top that?”

Jace grinned. “I get that. If I couldn't do what I do, I'd slit my wrists.”

She cocked a curious head at him. “What happens when you get too old, hotshot? SpecOps is a young man's game. What happens when you slow down?”

Ugh. He got cold chills even thinking about it. “Won't happen. I'm indestructible. Like Superman.” He changed the subject. “Have you worked with the 10th Special Forces Group the whole time you've been here?”

“For sixteen of the twenty-­two months I've been at al-­Zadr. They're debating sending me home early.” She frowned. “I have two months left on my tour. I just want to get back to work, no matter where it ends up being.”

Jace bit back everything that flashed through his brain. “No” would go over like a lead balloon, and he had no right to say it. “As long as you're restricted to base” would be met by disbelieving laughter. Her job required her to travel back and forth. “Only if I'm there to protect you” would be met with hostility. He'd never known anyone so persistent in proving herself.

So he changed the subject again. “When you do rotate back Stateside, you going home for a visit? Seeing family is always nice.” He stroked his chin, pretending to think. “Let's see . . . I'm going to guess you're from, where? Helena, Montana? Grew up on a farm?” He couldn't keep his eyes from dropping to her mouth, remembering their incredible softness. Their sweet heat. “Your first kiss was at the Homecoming dance, where you and your very lucky escort got crowned King and Queen?” And her date had driven her to a lake and parked, no doubt, and run his hands over that soft skin, maybe fumbled his way inside her bra . . . Heather was looking at him oddly, and he realized he was gripping the edge of the table with both hands, gritting his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. Because of a vision of another man touching Heather? Like he was jealous? No way. He wasn't jealous. He forced his hands open and pretended to relax.

Shit.

Heather laughed, and he lost himself in the sound.

“Try Los Angeles. Mother a model, father a screenwriter.” She hesitated, then shrugged. “A failed screenwriter, who believed an artist had to suffer, or at least drink, for his art. They weren't A-­List, but ­people recognized them. Got good tables, good seats at events, invites into exclusive clubs. Like that.”

“Never would have pegged you for a Hollywood starlet. You also modeled? How could you not, with that body?”

Heather frowned. “Yes. My sister didn't have the height for it. My mother kept shoving me into those stupid beauty pageants.” Raising her voice into a falsetto, she said, “My fondest wish is that we are able to achieve world peace in my lifetime.”

God. How awful was that? He couldn't picture strong, independent Heather Langstrom simpering across a stage, pretending her body, fabulous as it was, was her only asset. Had anyone recognized or encouraged her keen intelligence?

Still, the devil in him teased her. “I love those shows. Especially the swimsuit exhibi . . . I mean, the part where we hear from all the suma cum laude astrophysicist majors. Did you win?”

She shot him a disgusted look. “I hated it. My mother wanted me to be a professional model, too. An actress, if I could attract the right kind of attention. She couldn't seem to grasp the concept that I thought it was a total waste of time. And yes, I won. I won't trot out my pedigree; it's too humiliating.”

Jace laughed and reached across the table and intertwined their fingers. The slide of skin against skin felt more than good. He sobered. “Don't go home yet. I don't like the idea of your being alone.”

Heather gave him a who-­are-­you-­kidding look. He laughed.

“Well, of course I'd prefer that. But you're safe with me, I promise.”

“But are you safe with me?” Heather snapped her mouth closed. She cleared her throat, looking down at her plate and tugging her hand free. “Sorry. I can't say I'm not going to date you, then flirt with you.”

Jace exhaled a soft laugh. “Don't stop on my account,” he said, teasing her. “I'm a big, strong he-­man. I can take it.”

H
E MIGHT BE
able to take it; but could she? Slouching back into her chair, Heather tilted her head back to watch the fan rotating above her. What was it about him? Why was he different? Because he was. She'd dealt with dozens of Special Forces soldiers—­hard, confident, handsome warriors—­nearly drowning in a sea of testosterone, and had never once been tempted to break her rule. And yet, now, with Jace . . .

She watched as he tossed back the rest of his iced tea in one long swallow. His head thrown back and the strong column of his throat working had her aching to put her lips where a single drop of condensation slid from the glass to his chin. To lick it off, then lick down his throat, to trace her hands across his collarbone, to explore the muscles of his shoulders . . .

“You keep looking at me like that, I'm going to lose all my noble intentions.”

Heather jerked her gaze back to his face, a guilty flush rising in her cheeks. His words had been light, but the expression on his face was intense, his dark eyes probing her, the heat unmistakable.

Rather than answer, she pushed herself to her feet. Walking down to the long windows, she gazed out at the panorama below her. Miles and miles of sand and rock and scrub, then the rising peaks of the bare, jagged mountains. For the first time since she'd been here, she failed to appreciate the raw beauty of the landscape. Instead, it seemed barren and inhospitable. Empty.

Lonely.

A wellspring of realization hit her. An epiphany, lighting her from the inside out. Heather felt desolate, too. She focused on achievement. On success. Not on ­people, or on relationships.

She felt rather than saw Jace come up beside her. He didn't speak.

“I don't want to be alone,” she whispered.

He didn't say anything. He simply dropped cash onto the table, clasped her chilled hand in his warm one, and guided her to his car. Neither said a word as he drove to his little house. God, she was tired. Bone-­deep weary.

Maybe she just needed a nap.

With Jace?

No. No, no, no. Down that path lay disaster. Sure, she could sleep with him. Once, maybe twice. And word would get back to her unit, and every testosterone-­laden, thickheaded moron whom she had rejected over the past year would be all over her, all over again. She'd get no peace. Her reputation would suffer, and that she could not have. She was under no illusions; her assignment at the 10th Special Forces Group worked only as long as she could command the respect of her superiors, peers, and subordinates. If her commanding officer thought for one second she was a distraction to his men, she'd be rotated back Stateside before she could say, “Unfair.”

Jace pulled into his tiny driveway and killed the engine. Turning sideways in his seat, he draped a wrist over the steering wheel. “Hot tea,” he said.

Heather nodded, unfastening her seat belt. She would be safe here. She could rest. Nurse her wounds—­the ones no one could see—­and hide for a while. Just for a little while.

She followed Jace into his house.

He led her into the kitchen, where he put on a kettle. He scrounged through his cupboards, eventually coming up with a box of chamomile tea. “Ha!” he said. “Knew you were still around.”

Heather smothered a laugh. “Not a tea drinker, huh? I didn't really think so.”

Shaking his head, Jace grinned at her. “Not on your life. Coffee all the way.”

“Then who . . . ?” Heather clamped her jaws shut. She turned away and pulled open the refrigerator, peering inside and pretending she hadn't spoken. It was none of her business. None at all.

She didn't hear Jace move across the floor, but his heat blasted her as he stood directly behind her. “My mother,” he said softly, sliding his arms around her middle and pulling her back against him. He was solid and warm, and she let herself lean against him, just for a moment. “She visited six months ago. Couldn't get to sleep without the stuff.” He shuddered, and Heather laughed.

Jace turned her in his arms and pulled her in more tightly, silently offering comfort and strength. Even knowing she should pull away, put some distance between them, she found herself sliding her arms around his waist and laying her head on his broad chest. Just for a minute. His heartbeat, steady and strong, under her ear.

Something inside her relaxed.

The kettle began to whistle. Heather was all for ignoring it, but Jace eased himself away. Grabbing a cup, he dropped the teabag into it and poured the water. Some splashed over the edge and onto his fingers. He cursed, pulling them away and shaking his hand.

Heather laughed.

He slid a glance her way. “My pain is funny to you?”

Heather shook her head, but snickered. “Kinda, yeah. Three weeks ago, you went out, deep into a hostile area. You fought a ton of bad guys and went on the run for twelve hours straight, dragging me along. All that without ever losing your cool. A little hot water burn just doesn't seem like much next to that.”

Pulling a wounded look onto his face, Jace held out his fingers. “It's a big burn. Huge. In fact, I might lose my fingers.”

Chuckling, Heather took hold of his hand. A jolt of electricity shot through her. Whew. The man was potent, that was for sure. She bent to examine the burn, finding only a small patch of reddened skin. “Yes, I can see the severity of the wound. We'd better get you some serious first aid.” Acting without thinking, she bent and kissed the skin, soothing it. What was she doing? Where was her sanity?

It was Jace who stopped her, easing his finger free and stepping to the refrigerator. He opened the door and stood there, peering inside and not moving. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Do you take milk in your tea? Sugar, lemon? Actually, I don't have any lemon. And I think this milk expired last May.”

Heather let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. “Nothing, thank you.”

“Why don't you sit out on the couch? Or at the dining room table.”

“All right.”

How could they sound so normal? She herself felt anything but normal. Jittery, and like her skin was too hot and too tight for her bones. “Sorry.”

“No problem. I'll bring the tea out. Go sit down.”

Heather left the kitchen. She curled her legs under her on the sofa. Soft music filled the room, some sort of gentle jazz she didn't recognize. Figured a man who couldn't be bothered to buy his own furniture would have a sophisticated sound system. He handed her the cup of tea and perched at the other end. Heather sipped, scalding the tip of her tongue. Good. Maybe it would put her mind right. She was getting in too deep here, and really, nothing had happened. They'd shared a few kisses, that was all.