Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (4 page)

“It wasn’t because of you. It’s…us,” Clint admitted as he and Matt exchanged a worried glance. Good, let them be afraid. They could share the sour stomach that had been rotting her from the inside since the fallout of that single reckless, yet addicting, moment became apparent.

She waited, but they didn’t elaborate. “Really, that’s the best you can do? Some
talk
. ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ never convinced anyone.”

“Maybe this isn’t the best time…” Clint hedged.

“It’s
never
going to be the right occasion. It’s been months already. You’re cowards, both of you. I never would have guessed it before. Go home, jerks!” She wrenched off her shoe, then threw it at Clint, catching him in the gut. His
oomph
held a note of surprise. “You’re not going to do this to me anymore. I’m tired of waiting, hoping, for something that’s never going to happen. If you won’t be honest with yourselves, at least be upfront with me. Tell me you don’t want me. Say it.”

“Jambi, you’re dr—” Matt cut off when she swung her furious glare toward him instead.

“No. Forget it. Shut up.” She flapped her arms, not caring that she’d lost her temper for the first time…maybe ever. Irrational fury barred them from conjuring some ridiculous explanation that would steal her thunder. “No more excuses.”

“I don’t think it’s smart to leave you like this.” Clint looked to his partner for backup.

“I’d rather be alone than babysat by you two. Unless you plan to come to bed with me, get out.” She yanked the hem of her dress over her head and launched the gossamer sheath against the wall. It slithered to the floor and lay crumpled.

One of the guys, or maybe both, cursed as they took in her silk lingerie. It only made her feel stupider that she’d pretended even for an instant that she’d get to display it in far more favorable circumstances tonight. When would she learn that just because she hoped something would happen, that didn’t mean it would?

She kicked off her remaining shoe, enjoying the
clunk
it made as it joined her dress, then stormed into her bedroom. Alone.

Jambrea crashed onto her bed and thought of the last man she’d wasted nearly a decade of her life over. Stuck in this shithole, unable to grow or evolve, hoping he’d know where to find her if miracles happened and he changed his mind.

No matter how amazing Matt and Clint were or how brilliant the potential attraction between the three of them was, she refused to make that colossal mistake again. Flushing more of the best years of her life down the toilet was not an option.

She had to admit it. The pair of hot cops weren’t ever going to cross that threshold for a romp and certainly not for something
more
.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out!” she yelled, then rose her voice to ludicrous level. Who cared if her throat was raw in the morning? “Can’t you hear me?”

“Goodnight, Jambrea,” Clint called softly from the other room.

“Sleep well, wild thing. Call if you need us.” Matt sounded like someone had kicked him in the nuts. Not a bad idea. Why hadn’t she thought of it before she’d lain down? If the room wasn’t spinning so fast, she might consider climbing out of her nest to give assault a whirl. If they arrested her, maybe they’d break out their cuffs. Probably as close as she’d get to what she really craved.

“Fuck off, assholes.” She buried her face in her pillows as the sound of the door closing was followed by the creak of her piece-of-shit metal staircase groaning beneath their muscular heft. “I
do
need you. And you don’t care.”

Why had Matt decided to call her that?
Wild thing.
Not now. Not tonight. When all the walls inside her were crumbling anyway.

It was the last straw. Though she hated to, she sobbed into her pillow until unwanted dreams of days long gone haunted her sleep. The broken record played again as it had infinite times before. She thought she might have escaped, found a new song to dance to—with new partners—but those delusions had been false.

Again, she was flying solo.

Just like she had A.J.

After John.

Chapter Two

Almost Nine Years Earlier

Jambrea stood on a stage a few months after troops alerted to their plight, surely thanks to her spy savior, had hauled her and nine wounded men from the storm shelter. She wished she could move just enough to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. Nothing could compare to the intensity of the desert rays she’d left behind, but out in the crowd she thought she glimpsed a familiar yet rare shade of blue before the man in the fifth row donned his oversized sunglasses.

It couldn’t be him, could it? Hairs lifting on her nape proclaimed it might be. The eerie sense of being watched for the past twelve hours intensified. Damn military protocol that required she stand at attention throughout the entire award ceremony.

Not that she wasn’t honored. After all, from what she’d been told, only three women had received a Silver Star since World War II across all branches of service. The third highest honor in the Air Force—for gallantry in action—seemed like overkill for what she considered simply doing the right thing.

The cluster of men she’d helped rescue cheered from the front row. They might disagree.

And what about the one who seemed to subtly tip his hat before exiting the auditorium?

Jambrea knew it was the spy the military was so grateful to have alive to fight sneakily another day. If she’d had any doubt as to his value and usefulness to their country, the nine bazillion reams of Top Secret documents she’d had to sign and swear to had clinched the deal.

She tracked the man’s progress until he disappeared from sight, with one last glance over his shoulder. Then she smiled, shook the Vice President’s hand and accepted the small, velvet-lined box that would showcase the medal they pinned on her dress uniform.

Because after today, she wouldn’t wear either again—the clothes or the award.

If nothing else, something positive had come from that nightmare day.

Jambrea was free. With the training she needed to get started and the funding for nursing school, which would allow her to secure her public sector license.

Finally, on to the rest of her life.

She clapped for the other honorees and filed off stage. Passing by the families taking pictures of their proud recipients, she rejected the pang of jealousy that attempted to infiltrate her hard-won serenity. Alone, she’d gotten used to surviving. Her parents hadn’t approved of her joining the military, even as a way of escaping the poverty they’d raised her in. When she’d tried to visit on leave, she’d found they had been evicted, their house condemned and no forwarding address given.

Yet another reason to keep building something for herself.

On impulse, she swung her beat-up jalopy into the parking lot of a tattoo parlor she’d passed earlier. The neon sign blinking in the window proclaimed walk-ins were welcome. She wondered if the hundred bucks in her pocket would be enough for what she wanted.

Turned out, the artist refused her cash due to his respect for her service to the country.

And suddenly, things were looking up.

Jambrea climbed the open-backed metal stairway to her no-frills apartment. She hadn’t bothered with an extravagant place, knowing she’d be gone for quite a while. Hell, mostly she’d been proud to have a decent apartment she could afford on her own. No roommate, not even roaches to crash her party. Maybe now it’d be time to look for something…homier. As soon as she got settled at school and into her new routine.

She dropped her stuff on the living room floor, her duffle making a dull thud on the shaggy harvest gold carpet that was functional, if outdated.

“About time you showed up.”
 

Jambrea would have screamed if she hadn’t recognized her uninvited visitor’s voice. That sensual rasp had haunted her dreams for months. She flipped on a dim light and took in the utter relaxation of his frame as he lounged on the ugly recliner she’d picked up at Mrs. Daisy’s yard sale the summer before her deployment.

“Glad to see you made it out in one piece.” Suppressing the urge to shuffle beneath his steady gaze, she stared into his eyes. The electric blue irises grew as his pupils shrank in the light. How long had he been sitting in blackness?

How many years had he spent in the shadows?

“Same goes.” He rose from the depths of saggy cushions, which had nearly sucked her into their black hole a million times before, as if he were a jaguar unfurling from its perch on a tree limb. Silently, he stalked to her.

Moisture abandoned her throat, leaving it dry when he approached.

“What happened here?” He brushed a finger over the bandage around her wrist. “You didn’t try to hurt yourself, did you?”

Jambrea threw her head back and laughed. “I’m not a quitter.”

“Didn’t take you for one.” He squinted. “Though I didn’t see those at the ceremony. Your sleeves were long, but I’d have noticed bandages like that.”

“It
was
you.” A grin tugged at her lips.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t have missed it. You deserved that, you know.” The power of his gaze struck her once more.

“I suppose.” She shrugged.

“So…” His thumbs brushed over her pulse in a circle, careful of applying too much pressure.

“They’re tattoos.” Endorphins still pumped through her from the inking. “Probably red and puffy… Want to see?”

“Hell yes.” He seemed surprised. “Didn’t take you for that sort of girl.”

“What kind is that?” A raised eyebrow warned him of the thin ice he trod on.

“Hey, calm down. I love a woman with permanent art.” He held his hands up in surrender as she unwound the dressings. She could easily replace them with superior wraps when they were finished with show and tell. “It just takes commitment. You’re young. And those are really visible.”

“I’m not ashamed of expressing myself.”

“Tell me you didn’t get something dumb or meaningless.” He scrunched his eyes closed until she swore she didn’t opt for a misspelled Chinese character or, maybe, an abstract doodle.

“See for yourself.” The heat of his stare astounded her again, making her feel as if he seared her skin. Even the buzzing tattoo machine hadn’t scored her so deep.

“‘I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.’” He grunted his agreement with the quote braceleting her right wrist before scanning the other. The delicacy with which he rotated her arm in his grasp had her knees wobbling. “‘I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.’”

“So?” She waited for his verdict, unsure why it meant so much to gain his approval.

“I’m a D.H. Lawrence fan myself, wild thing.” Thrills radiated from the soft kiss he placed just above the text, on her pulse. The damn beat had sped up to something near supersonic. It didn’t slow when he recovered her minor wounds carefully. She admired his craggy features, which had not a drop of pretty boy about them but still managed to be breathtaking. His too-long hair was sun-fried and a little shaggy, the dirty blond highlights in it something movie stars had artfully applied. “There’s something about you, Jambi. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since that day. And I’m not the kind of guy who gets distracted easily.”

“It’s kind of crazy, right?” She hoped he felt half the instant attraction she did.

“Uh huh. I shouldn’t even be here.” He looked toward the door long enough to make her think he might change his mind and scram.

“Well, since you are, why don’t you make it count?” Tentatively, she reached for his jaw, cupping the distinct edge, loving the scratch of his substantial scruff on her palm. He didn’t flinch. What else could he have come for if not for this? He must have felt it too.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” A step forward eliminated most of the space between them.

“Pretty sure this falls in the ‘no regret’ category.” She nudged his face lower so that she could do what she’d dreamed of for months.

The kiss trumped every fantasy she’d had. Urgent. Dangerous. Yet ultimately safe.

She trusted him, even if it made her the biggest fool in the universe. The government hadn’t conferred the Silver Star on her for rescuing a terrorist. And he hadn’t left her in his dust as he could so easily have done in the midst of a war zone. If he’d had to make hard choices along a windier path than most people travelled, so what? That only made him nobler in her estimation.

For tonight, she wanted to help him forget all the people who’d tried to hurt him.

Almost as much as she craved the bliss he could impart. It would wipe away the loneliness of her past and kick-start her brand new life.

She nibbled on his lower lip when he separated them to draw a deep breath. He didn’t go far. Especially not with her teeth teasing his mouth.

He walked her backward, toward the only bedroom in the tiny place. It wouldn’t have been difficult to spot her pink comforter even in the diffuse glow of the single illuminated lamp. When the backs of her knees collided with the dipped mattress, they tumbled together.

The weight of him didn’t hurt. Welcome, it reminded her that another human being joined her tonight, filled the spartan space with something other than her off-key singing or the conversations she sometimes conducted with herself. Maybe it was time to get a pet, at least.