was all he could do not to groan out loud as he realized what he’d done.
He’d gone and fallen in love.
He was so screwed.
BLAKE CURLED HIS BODY behind Alexia’s, his arms wrapped around her waist and fingers twined with hers. It was the closest he could get without being inside her. But give him another five, maybe ten minutes, and he’d be up for that again, too.
She was quiet in his arms. Too quiet. He could tell she wasn’t floating on a cloud in sexual nirvana. Not with all the tension he could feel radiating off her.
Give him another five, maybe ten minutes, and he’d get rid of that, too.
“You never asked me what happened at the compound,” she finally said, her words painfully low. “Is that a part of your orders? You’re on pickup-and-delivery service, but not allowed to know what’s in the package?”
Protocol clearly stated that he was exactly what she’d said—pickup and delivery. His orders had been clear. Don’t grill her. Debriefing would be done by higher-ups. Besides, Blake winced, trauma, PTS—she was going to be carting around plenty. But he wasn’t equipped to deal with it. Hell, with her psych degree, she was better prepared than he was.
Distract and delay, he decided. Until she could talk to someone who knew how to guide her back to feeling safe.
“I’m pretty sure I just explored the package pretty thoroughly,” Blake said, laughing a little before he leaned down to gently bite the back of her shoulder. Ah, the perfect distraction. Alexia gave a delighted shudder, pressing her hips back against him. He felt life stirring again, and was tempted. Oh, so tempted to let their bodies take over again.
But even though they didn’t have a future, even though his reasons for them not being together were all still strong and solid, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go the same route he had before. He’d seen the questions in her eyes last fall, had known she wanted to talk, to connect in more than just a physical way. He could use the typical guy excuse that talking about emotions was stupid, a total girlie thing. But he knew that wasn’t what she was looking for. She just wanted to know more about the guy she was sleeping with than his favorite position and what moves sent him over the edge.
Blake had hurt Alexia once because he’d taken the easy route. He wasn’t going to do it again if he could help it.
“SOP in a rescue is to get in, get the victim and get out. We’re not supposed to ask questions unless it pertains to completing the mission,” he explained.
“Is that what I am? A standard operating procedure?” She didn’t sound angry. Nor did her body stiffen or shift away. She simply looked at him with patient curiosity. As if she could wait, that she totally trusted he’d get to the right answer eventually.
Blake frowned. Why didn’t she ever react the way he expected? They had sex, and instead of falling into a satisfied stupor, she started thinking about her captivity. He inadvertently labeled her and she laughed it off. Would he ever understand how her mind worked? What her emotional triggers were?
“There’s nothing standard about you,” he said honestly. “The truth is, I don’t do this kind of thing well.”
She twisted in his arms so they were face-to-face. Her hair, free of the braid again, haloed around them like red flames. Her slender shoulders and silky skin made for a gorgeous distraction. Blake wanted to pull her tight against him, to tuck her head into his chest and distract her with sex. But the way she was staring at him made it clear she wasn’t going to go for it.
“What kind of thing?”
“The emotional aftermath,” he said with an uncomfortable shrug. “Dealing with the trauma. You went through hell. You deserve to talk to someone who understands how to guide you through the healing process. I’d say the wrong thing, or pat your head because I don’t know how to react, or cuss and punch something. And you don’t need anyone making it worse for you.”
Her eyes turned to liquid, her smile trembling a little at the corners.
“You are so sweet,” she said quietly, brushing her fingertips over his lips in a whisper-soft touch almost as intimate as a kiss.
“No. I just don’t want to talk the emotional stuff,” he dismissed gruffly. But inside, he felt like a little boy doing backflips. All excited because she thought he was sweet.
“But you would, wouldn’t you? If I had to talk it through, if I couldn’t wait for a professional who knew how to counsel me, you’d let me work it through with you?”
Blake would rather take a bullet. But, keeping his cringe inside, he nodded.
Her smile was bright enough to light the entire tent. With a husky laugh, she hugged him tight. Her bare breasts pressed temptingly against his chest while her legs twined with his.
“Sweet,” she told him. “You are so seriously sweet. Sweet enough that I won’t put you through that.”
“Thank you,” Blake breathed. Then, because words weren’t enough, he leaned down to kiss her. Their lips melted together, heating him through and through.
Maybe their five-minute wait was up...
Before he could find out, she leaned back to break the kiss and smiled again.
“So all that hand-holding you do is restricted to the rescue,” she teased. “Not the recovery?”
“We should all do what we do best. And leave the things we do worst for someone else.”
“And what do you do best?”
“Whatever I set my mind to,” he told her. It wasn’t bragging. He was damn good at what he did.
“Do you ever worry?” she asked, her fingers tracing a pattern on his chest, but her eyes locked on his. “Does it ever just seem like it’s too much? The constant living on edge, the missions and danger and never knowing what’s next?”
“It’s my life. Danger, the unexpected. They’re second nature. Like breathing.” Unable to resist those lips, already swollen from his kisses, Blake leaned down to kiss her again.
When he leaned back, she gave him a look that said no distractions allowed. Blake was tempted to see how long it would take to make that look change into passionate surrender.
But finally, with those patient eyes locked on his, he sighed and admitted, “Yeah, sometimes. I didn’t used to worry. I’m serious when I say it’s a job. I’m highly trained, and damn good at what I do. So doing it isn’t a worry.”
“But?”
How did she know there was a but? He replayed his words, his tone. There hadn’t been a but in there, dammit.
“You know, you wasted that psych degree of yours,” he teased, trying to laugh it off.
Despite her smile, she suddenly looked sad. Stressed. He could feel the tension tightening in her lower back.
“What?”
