Sand Angel (14 page)

“Hey, man, how about some help here,” Josh called out to Drew. He and several others were rounding up the quads, putting them nose to nose, before stringing chain through their handlebars to lock them up for the night. Drew slid a quad into neutral and rolled it over to where Josh was working. “I told you so,” Josh muttered, placing a lock around the chain and securing the ends. “She still loves you.”

If only that were true
, Drew thought. “How do you know?”

Josh looked up at him with sincerity in his expression and voice. “If she didn’t, she’d be in Trent’s arms right now.” He brushed the sand off his hands. “Now how about another beer?”

Parties at Glamis always rolled into the wee hours of the morning. It was one o’clock before the lights in Zoë’s trailer blinked out. Another hour before Drew got up the nerve to use the key in his pocket.

The floor moaned beneath each of his steps as he entered. He didn’t want to frighten her so he whispered her name. When there was no response, he slipped farther inside. Her soft, powdery musk filled his senses as he moved toward her bedroom. A slit in the curtains bathed her in moonlight. She slept hugged tightly to a pillow. Her features were tight, rigid.

Slowly he backed away. She needed to sleep. But he couldn’t leave. Toeing one shoe off and then the other, he stretched out on her couch, his feet hanging over the side. Just being near her was enough for him. There would be other nights to show her how much he loved her.

A cry in the night startled Zoë awake. She jerked into a sitting position. Outside the trailer she could hear the last of the diehards stirring. The music was silent, but laughter still rang. The alarm clock on the dresser announced three o’clock in neon red. She was tired and sore. The effects of the pain pill she took earlier clouded the edges of awareness. As she slid back upon her side, another mournful cry stopped her cold. Her pulse jumped as quickly as her imagination. Someone was in her trailer?

No. It wasn’t possible. She had locked her doors before turning in for the night.

“Zoë.” Her name was just a whimper, but she’d know that voice anywhere. Drew. The damn man had somehow broken into her home.

With enough anger to light a fuse, she tore off the sheet covering her and swung her legs over the side of the bed, every sore muscle announcing its presence. Her feet beat out her fury as she stormed down the several steps leading to the living room, stopping dead in her tracks when Drew groaned as if he were in pain.

Her first thought was that he had hurt himself riding. Concerned, she didn’t wait a second to flip the switch and bathe the room in light. Drew was curled up on her couch fast asleep, but it wasn’t a peaceful slumber. His forehead was moist with perspiration. He tossed and turned, nearly falling off as he muttered, “Travis dead. Where’s Norm? Gone?” Tears leaked from his closed eyes. He threw his arms around his head as if protecting himself, while he drew into a tighter ball.

Zoë pressed a palm to her mouth. What had he gone through in Iraq? She had stayed away from listening to the news, knowing that any information about the war would bring memories of Drew to the surface. It had been selfish, but it had been the only coping mechanism she had.

“Oh God,” he moaned as if the tortured cry was ripped from his soul. “I’ve been shot. Zoë!” This time he screamed her name.

“Shot,” Zoë whispered in disbelief as she dropped to her knees before him. She could have lost him, was her immediate thought. He jerked, the motion almost tossing him off the couch as she caught him, braced him from falling. “Drew,” she choked out.

“I need you,” he sobbed, each word filled with so much anguish they were a vise around her heart, squeezing, slowly ripping her apart. The agony on his face nearly broke her heart. “God, I need you so much,” he said breathlessly.

Had he needed her? Uninvited tears blossomed and fell down her cheeks. She batted at them, trying to chase away the guilt that rose. She hadn’t read any of his letters—couldn’t. When the first one had arrived she’d instructed her mother to return it unopened. Each time her mother had tried to talk to her about Drew, Zoë refused to listen. Instead, she ran away. Keeping distance between her and her family was distance between her memories of Drew.

He groaned low and deep, and the mournful sound made Zoë reach for his hands. They were cold to the touch. She held them tightly, hoping the heat of her body would warm him. “Drew. Honey, wake up.” She leaned in and kissed his brow.

“Zoë?” His eyelids rose, then snapped shut when they met the light.

“Yes.” She sniffled, fighting back the need to take him in her arms. “It’s me.”

“Sonofabitch,” he growled. “I’m sorry.” His weary tone was filled with regret. He squinted, looking up at her through misty eyes.

“Sorry?” Her response was a mixture of tears and laughter. “What for?”

“I woke you up.” He released her hands and rubbed his palms over his face. He looked as exhausted as she felt.

“You cried out in your sleep.” She quickly got to her feet, wiping her eyes, hoping he didn’t notice her tears. Nervously, she pulled at the hem of the silky blue teddy she wore. She should have grabbed a robe. A single strap slid off her shoulder and she nudged it back up.

“I—” He sighed, briefly closing his eyes again as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.” Slowly, he moved into a sitting position.

Zoë sat down at the far end of the couch, leaving distance between them, afraid if he touched her she would fall apart. “You were shot?” He jerked his puzzled gaze to meet hers. She forced a smile. “You talk in your sleep.”

Dismay weighed heavy in his watery eyes. He shook his head and looked away. “Damn dreams.” He roughly combed his fingers through his dark hair.

Silence lingered until she said, “Well?”

“Yeah.” His response was short. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it, but she had to know.

Zoë inched a little closer. “Dammit, Drew. What happened?”

He clenched his jaws. For a moment she thought he would ignore her, then he said, “I accompanied Motor-T, transportation, to a camp north of Baghdad. They were short of fuel, food and medical supplies. We were about three clicks from our destination—”

“Clicks?” she interrupted.

“Three thousand yards. That’s when we were ambushed.”

Zoë felt her blood thicken. She had never let herself believe Drew was in any danger. Hell, she hadn’t let herself think at all. If she was focused on the next race, the next jump, she didn’t have to worry about anything but the finish line or landing.

“The first RPG exploded in front of our truck.” He must have realized she had no idea what an RPG was because he added, “Rocket propelled grenade. Shrapnel from the blast blew out our windshield.” His gaze suddenly became perplexed. His expression grew distant, almost as if he were a million miles away from her. “We were locked in the field of fire. Bullets ricocheted as they struck the truck, others burying into it, including into our driver.” Again, he grew silent. He clutched his hands together, his elbows resting on his thighs. His voice shook as he began to speak again. “The truck swerved. I grabbed the wheel.” He rapidly shook his head. His stare pinned on the floor. “We were surrounded—no way out. Screams.” He paused. She wanted to reach out to him, but he blurted, “Cries for help. God, I was never so glad to hear the whirling blades of the Apache ’copter overhead. The gunship opened up a spray of bullets. There was crossfire. I felt a searing slice of metal burn into my chest. I couldn’t breathe. The next thing I knew I was in the hospital.”

The tendons and muscles in his neck bulged, tightened. She could see he fought for control. He swallowed hard before meeting her gaze. “Thoughts of you were the only thing that pulled me through the months lying in that bed. I had memorized your touch, the soft, musky scent of your skin, and your kiss. But each time I woke in the darkness you weren’t there.”

No
, the silent word rang in her head. She fought to restrain the emotion begging to be released. She wouldn’t feel guilty. He had been the one to walk away. Still, she couldn’t stop the pang to her heart. They had both been alone. She drew her legs beneath her, folded her arms around her to stop from reaching for him.

“I wrote,” he said as if that explained everything. His leaving—rejection.

“I know,” she replied dryly.

“Why, Zoë?” He laid a hand on her thigh. She felt the warmth of his touch as though it were a flame heating her blood. “Why didn’t you read them?”

It was her turn to let regret surface in her strangled voice. “I couldn’t.” She prayed for strength, prayed that this moment would come quickly to an end. She didn’t want to hear what he had to say, leaving old wounds gaping wide.

The harrumph he released sent a chill through her. “I wish you had. I wanted to come home, baby. Marry you. When I received no response I didn’t think there was anything to come home to. I sure as hell got the message that you had moved on.”

A knot of emptiness formed in Zoë’s throat. She couldn’t breathe—couldn’t speak. What had she done? No, wait. How could she trust him? He had abandoned her, chosen a job over her—left her.

He brushed his fingers through his hair again. “After I was released from the hospital, returned to the States, I thought maybe…”

“Maybe we could pick up where we left off?” Zoë pulled her legs from beneath her, setting her feet on the floor. He drew his hand back into his lap. She steeled her shoulders. If he ran once before, what would stop him from doing it again? “I’m not the same person you left behind.” She couldn’t contain her bitterness as she rose. “I’m sure you’ve changed in these past three years too. Fact is, you might not like the person I’ve become.” Who could blame him? Her innocence was gone. Instead she stood before him a cynical woman, one who would rather be alone than set herself up for another failed relationship.

“Couldn’t we try? Start anew?” he asked.

Chapter Thirteen

Drew pushed to his feet and closed the distance between them. The second the back of his hand smoothed across Zoë’s cheek, her eyelids drifted downward. She was velvety soft. He caressed her gently, fighting back the desire to jerk her into his arms and devour her. “The connection is still there, baby,” he whispered, pressing his lips to each of her eyelids, tasting the salty tears she held back. She tried so hard to be tough, but he knew the woman he fell in love with was still there. “You can’t deny it.” He nibbled on her earlobe and she melted in his arms, her body sagging forward to get closer to him. With his fingertips, he traced her jawline, stroking a path down her slender neck, along the lacy ridge of her teddy to the hollow between her breasts.

Her mouth parted upon a gasp. “Drew. Please…” Her desperate plea drifted away as her head lolled back. He couldn’t take his eyes off the sweet swells of her breasts rising and falling before him. He had to taste her—had to know that she still wanted him.

His cock was rock-hard, begging to be set free from its confinement in his jeans. He leaned forward, capturing a silk-covered nipple. Zoë whimpered a soft and needy sound. He tongued the rigid peak, scraping his teeth across the sensitive flesh. “You’re trembling,” he moaned before latching on again and sucking the tip deeper into his mouth. When she cupped his head, held him to her, he smiled.

Slowly, he slid the straps of her nightie down her shoulders. The material slipped farther, baring the breast he had left unattended. He cupped its weight in his hand, caressing the engorged nub with his thumb. Excitement surged inside him when she guided his head to her bare nipple, crying out as he took it into his wet mouth.

“Clothes,” she breathed. Her half-shuttered eyes were dark with desire. “Take them off. I need to feel you.”

Drew ignored her request, knowing that anticipation would build—her need grow—if he didn’t give in to her demand. Instead, he released his hold, hooked his thumbs into the teddy and the elastic of her panties and dragged them slowly down her legs. He didn’t have to wait for her to step out of them—she did so with haste. The sweet scent of woman rose to meet him. “Are you wet for me?” he asked, taking a deep breath. His mouth watered to taste her. He couldn’t wait to have her writhing beneath his assault as she climaxed. Blood rushed to his groin. His testicles hardened, pulsing as if they had a heartbeat of their own.

“Yes. God. Yes. Your T-shirt,” Zoë groaned, her fingers moving to the hem. He caught her palms in his, gathering them together and drawing them above her head so he could cuff her wrists in one of his large hands. “No. I need—” She pressed her body against his, rubbing up and down. “Need you now.”

He wedged a knee between her legs and let the rough cotton of his jeans slide over her moist pussy. She rode him wantonly, capturing him in her heated gaze, never looking away from his. His arousal soared. His heartbeat raced. Damn. The woman she had become was friggin’ hot. Yet he had to remember that she had recently been in an accident. He couldn’t take her fast and hard like his body was screaming for.

Drew placed his mouth next to her ear and murmured, “Come for me, baby.”

From deep within, a cry of ecstasy tore from her. “Drew!” She thrashed against his leg, trying to jerk her wrists free. He loved the way she screamed his name, loved how uninhibited she was, riding him to enhance every sensation. He watched her intense expression, knew the moment that she exploded—rode the crest—and then began to decline, because her face softened with a sated sigh of relief. There was no pretending, only bare honesty in her need. What she wanted, she took without shame.