The One Worth Waiting For (25 page)

“The right thing? The right thing? And what would that be, Suzanne? Go AWOL to help my friends, or serve my country?”

She flinched at the vehemence in his voice and clipped off an entire branch.

“Damn it, Suzanne! Would you just look at me!”

“No,” she muttered defiantly. “What do you want from me, Garret? What do you want me to say? I don’t know what you want.”

He grabbed her shoulder and forcefully turned her around, the shears falling to the ground. His dark eyes blazed, his jaw rigid with intensity. “I couldn’t do it, Suzanne. I looked at Zlatko, wounded in that cave, and I knew I couldn’t help him, but I knew I couldn’t betray him, either. So I told him I was an undercover naval officer on a mission. And then I turned and walked away. From everything.”

She looked at him in anguish. “It was the best you could do.”

“No, it was the worst. Zlatko went nuts. He jumped me, hitting me and calling me every traitorous name he could think of. I had to knock him unconscious to get away. Now, he’s gone off the deep end, convinced I’m the root of all evil. And maybe I am. I let my friends down. I let my country down. What’s left after that? Suzanne, tell me what’s left!”

She couldn’t bear it anymore. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him shudder in her embrace. He buried his face against her neck, his large shoulders shaking from the doubts and the strain. All his life, he’d lived by a few simple maxims. And suddenly black and white were gone, and he lived now in a wasteland of grays.

“You did what you had to do,” she whispered in his ear. “It’s all right now, Garret. It’s all right.”

He held her tighter, and she felt the tears on her cheeks once more. She hated the fact that he had to feel such pain. Why couldn’t she just soothe it away? Why couldn’t she just keep him?

His head came up, and he kissed her hungrily.

“I need you,” he whispered, delving his tongue into her mouth. “I need you, Suzanne.”

“I know, I know,” she said, kissing him back just as fiercely. Her hands tangled in his hair, smoothing around his corded neck. “Garret…I…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, so instead, she kissed him harder.

“Zlatko will find you sooner or later,” Garret warned her starkly. “I have to go and find him first. You understand that, don’t you?”

She nodded, feeling her eyes burn even more. “In the morning, okay? Just give me until then.”

He answered by swinging her up into his arms and carrying her upstairs.

In the velvety black-and-white shadows of her room, he ripped off her thin gown, and she yanked his own shirt free, throwing it to the floor so she could smooth her hands down the rippling muscles of his arms. He looked so strong and sculpted in the dim moonlight. More man than she could ever have wanted.

And she liked the way he felt and the way he held her. She liked the morning when she’d awakened in his arms and he’d rolled over and snuggled close.

Remember this, she told herself as she caressed his lips with her own. Remember this touch, this smell, this taste. Remember the way his hair feels in your hands, the way his cheeks rasp across your own. Who knows when you will ever feel such things again.

She closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. Then her hands found the waistband of his jeans. This time, there was no hesitation when she unsnapped the denim. She tugged the rough material from his hips as her right, because she was his lover and she wanted him.

When his hands cupped her breasts, she arched back freely, offering herself to his touch. His rough thumbs sent shivers down her spine, and she moaned, her cry low and encouraging. “Yes, Garret. Like that. Just like that.”

He took her nipple into his mouth, and she wanted to weep from the pleasure. Instead, she raked her hands through his hair and held him close. He was so beautiful to her. Everything she’d ever wanted, ever dreamed of all those nights so long ago.

She dragged his head back up and kissed him deeply, her nails raking fiercely down his back. In response, he drew up her leg and wrapped it around his waist, pressing her intimately against him. She didn’t shy away, but rubbed against him suggestively. He groaned roughly from the movement and she took pleasure in the sound.

With open, honest eyes, she caressed his chest, explored his arms. His own gaze was black and intense, boring into her. He reached up and plucked the first hairpin from her hair. Two more, and the long, silk strands of her hair cascaded down, caressing her shoulders. He plunged one hand through, massaging her scalp as she arched her neck in appreciation.

He picked up a handful of her hair, then released it to sweep back down once more. “You have beautiful hair,” he murmured gruffly. “Shiny and silky and…beautiful.”

She shook her head, but reveled in his touch anyway. She moved her hips, feeling his hard, thrusting length so close. Shivers raced up and down her spine, goose bumps popping up on her arms. She stood on tiptoe, positioning him even more intimately. Suddenly, he lifted her up from beneath the arms, wrapping her other leg around his waist.

With slow, muscle-flexing control, he eased her down onto him, watching her eyes turn molten with the heat. She enveloped him completely, tight and warm and moist. Thighs rippling with the strain, he rolled his hips and heard her gasp. It was a beautiful sound on her lips.

Her eyes darkened, her hands gripping his shoulders. He could see the throbbing blue pulse on her neck, watch her bend back with the building passion.

Her nails dug into his upper arms, moisture beading her brow. He thrust deeper, faster, and the look on her face nearly drove him over the edge.

At the last minute, he pulled out completely, hearing her cry out her disappointment. “The condom,” he grated. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart.”

His hands were trembling so badly, his body coiled so tautly, he could barely get the foil packet out of his jeans pocket. In the end, she took it from his shaking fingers and tore the wrapper open herself.

In contrast, her hands were amazingly steady as she grasped him with one hand and rolled the condom on. Then she gripped his shoulders and drew him down onto the bed, her shapely; voluptuous legs wrapping around his waist once more.

He thrust into her without preamble and it happened for her with one gasping cry, her teeth biting into her lip. He thrust again, then again, then again, and tumbled over the precipice with a roar.

He buried his face in her neck and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. She refused to relinquish her grip when he tried to take his weight off later, and after a moment, he gave in with a sigh.

Still buried deep within her, he fell asleep. But Suzanne remained awake far into the night. Stroking his back and hoarding the memories.

Eight miles away, the sound of shattering glass tinkled through the silent night. The large, dark form cleared the rest of the jagged edges from the window and climbed easily inside. Then starting with the appointment book, he worked his way through Dr. Jacobs’s office.

* * *

Suzanne opened her eyes as the mattress unexpectedly sagged. Strong, muscled arms left her as Garret climbed out of bed. She didn’t say anything, simply remained lying on her side and staring at the window as she heard him stop and pull on his jeans. Quiet footsteps, then the sound of the house’s old pipes groaning to life.

She sat up in bed. Judging by the sun shining through the window, it was later than her usual 5:30 rising time. Her eyes still felt heavy, and her thighs sore. She ignored both as she climbed out of bed.

Her bare feet settled on the hardwood floor and she took in the sight of their clothes scattered messily across the room. Leave it, she told herself. She had the rest of her life to spend cleaning.

She found her old terry-cloth robe, belted it around her waist and then pattered downstairs. Behind her, the pipes groaned more loudly as the shower came to life. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and methodically went to work.

When Garret came down fifteen minutes later, still buttoning his shirt, she was flipping over the fifth piece of French toast. He stopped in the doorway, taking in her tangled brown hair and thick, fuzzy robe. She threw another piece of egg-soaked bread into the frying pan without looking up.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said at last, the words husky.

“You should eat,” she said simply. “You’ll need your strength.”

“Suzanne?”

The spatula froze in the air, and for one moment, he could see her hand tremble. “What, Garret?”

“I’ll go get the table,” he found himself saying. They weren’t the words he wanted, but he couldn’t seem to find any others. She nodded, the spatula moving again, and he headed down the hall to the back porch.

He took down the protective sheets without allowing himself to think. He laid them over the railing, then picked up the shiny table. He should have made chairs to match. Or maybe a leaf. He didn’t know.

He carried it into the house awkwardly, slowly easing it through the narrow doorways.

“In the kitchen?” he asked from the hall.

She shrugged. “Sure, the kitchen.”

He looked at the old, rickety wooden table sitting in the corner now. “What should I do with that?”

“The third floor, if it’s not a problem. There should be room for it somewhere there.”

“It’s not a problem.” Already beginning to sweat with the morning heat, he carried the old table upstairs. He found a half-empty bedroom on the third floor and deposited the table there. By the time he came back downstairs, Suzanne already had the new table set up with the old chairs and was putting down place mats.

“I would’ve moved it for you,” he said after a minute, frowning. The old chairs, scratched and gray, definitely didn’t go with the rich cherry wood of the new table.

“I know,” Suzanne said softly, glancing up for a moment. Her gaze was immediately drawn to his chest exposed by the half-buttoned shirt. She looked away. “There’s plenty of French toast,” she said.

He sat down, not knowing what else to do, and felt the tension stretch even tighter. Moving in the quick, efficient steps he knew so well, she set the table and placed a heaping plate in front of him. It was followed by warmed maple syrup, a shaker of cinnamon, confectioners’ sugar and fresh butter. Then she brought the sliced melon and orange juice.

She stood there expectantly until he dished up the first piece. Finally, she took a seat.

“It’s very good,” he said after taking a bite. “Fresh bread?”

“Challah bread,” she told him. “It works the best. And I add a hint of cinnamon to the eggs.”

He nodded, chewing another mouthful. “I’ll have to remember that,” he said presently. She gave a little smile and dished up some fruit.

“Do…do you know where you’re going to start looking?” she stammered out after a few minutes.

His fork stilled, then he finished stabbing another piece. “The airports,” he said. “I need to figure out how he got here and if he’s still around.”

“Do you really think he wants you dead?”

“Yes.”

She paused, then gave up on eating altogether. “Maybe you should take Cagney with you,” she suggested softly, but he shook his head.

“It’s personal, Suzanne. Between Zlatko and me. I don’t want anyone else involved, and I don’t think he’ll tolerate it.”

“But why?” she persisted, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Beneath the table, her hands nervously twisted the belt of her robe.

Garret looked at her for a long time. “Zenaisa was his anchor,” he said at last. “His home. His heart. When she died, he lost everything. War does that, and men, well, I guess we just have our own way of dealing with things. Vengeance. The vengeance sustained him. Me, too, for a while. I really did want to fight. I really…” He looked down at his plate. “Zlatko needs someone to hate, When I announced who I really was, that someone became me. The hatred is all he has now.”

“What will you do?”

“Find him, talk to him. What else can I do?”

She looked at him intensely. “What if he’s determined to kill you, Garret? What then?”

For endless seconds, he just looked at the shiny new tabletop. Then slowly, his eyes came up to meet hers. “I can’t hurt him, if that’s what you mean. I saw those bodies, Suzanne. Women and children…” His voice faded away into a whisper. “What was done there never should have been done. And if I could have, I would have stayed and fought that war myself. Even now, I want to.”

She pushed her chair back, and unable to look at him anymore, she carried her plate to the sink. She didn’t doubt his dark eyes at all. He was a man trained for war, a warrior. What could she give a man like that? Roses? Dolls? French toast? She twisted her lips and began rinsing the plate mindlessly. She could feel his gaze on her back.

The phone rang, and both of them started. With a weak smile, Suzanne picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she said tremulously.

“Suzanne? It’s Mitch. Is Garret there?”

She glanced over at Garret, a sudsy hand still clutching the phone. “Sure he is, Mitch. Don’t any of you Guiness boys ever say hi?”

She heard Mitch sigh at the other end. “Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“No problem. Here he is.” She held out the phone, and with a questioning eye, Garret rose and took it.

“Yeah?”

“Garret, I got that twitchy feeling again. Tell me you got your memory back.”

Garret half smiled at the sound of Mitch’s voice, then sobered. “It’s okay, Mitch. The situation’s under control. I was just a little late.”

“What happened?”

“Mom and Dad’s house burned down last night.”

There was a long silence, then Mitch swore. “Everyone okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. Cagney’s taking care of things.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, Mitch. Give it a rest.”

“Then why are my shoulder blades still suffering from the heebie-jeebies?”

“Mitch, it’s only four a.m. your time. Anyone’s bound to feel strange at four a.m.”

“I suppose. Can Jessica and I return from exile yet? For God’s sake, she’s due to give birth in just two weeks and she’s not very happy with me.”