poking into people’s heads.”
Weird. Blake hadn’t taken the admiral to be a touchy-feely, get-in-touch-with-yourself kind of guy.
“I guess parents have their own vision for our lives, and it doesn’t always mesh with our own.”
“Or we have a vision for our own life that doesn’t fit theirs,” she said, her words only a little bitter.
Same thing, he started to say. Then he realized it wasn’t.
“Did yours?” she asked, her fingers tracing a design on his chest. Sliding lower, tighter.
“Did mine what?” he responded absently, all his attention focused on where she’d touch next.
“Did your parents’ vision suit you? Or did your vision suit them?”
Her fingers forgotten, Blake snorted. “I didn’t rate high enough to merit visions. My old man walked out when I was three, and my mother’s view was usually blurred by vodka. She didn’t care what I did. Or what I didn’t do.”
Alexia’s fingers shifted upward, teasing the hair on his chest, then rubbing in sweet, soothing circles.
“She must be proud now, though, right? You’ve been decorated so many times. Won so many honors.”
Blake arched a brow. How did she know what he’d done?
She looked stubborn for a second, then sniffed. “So I checked your records. So what?”
He couldn’t help it. He laughed, then kissed the tip of her nose. She was so freaking cute. Her sexiness was blatant, always right there like a punch in the face. Her brains were subtle, a backdrop to the sexy. Again, always there, but not something she shoved down your throat. But the cuteness? The vulnerable sweetness? That’s what got to him. She hid it a lot of the time, so when it peeked out, it was extra special.
“So I’m glad you were curious enough to want to check me out,” he said softly. Then he grimaced. He didn’t want to talk about his past. It wasn’t something he was ashamed of, but it wasn’t his world anymore. Still, honesty deserved honesty, so he told her, “My mother doesn’t care about any of that. I’m not even sure she knows I made the SEAL team. When I refused to send home my paycheck, she wrote me off. Said we were through. It’s been six years and I can’t say I miss her.”
Horror, anger and a sort of recognition all mixed together in Alexia’s expression. She kissed his chin, as if kissing away any hurt he might still feel.
“Even when we don’t care, it still hurts when they close that door, doesn’t it?” she said quietly.
Blake frowned.
“What doors are closed to you?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew. He hated that the admiral, a man he honestly looked up to and thought a great deal of, could be so flawed as a father.
“My father disowned me last fall. Again.”
Last fall?
Shit.
“Because of me?”
Her smile was pure appreciation.
“No, although my unacceptable behavior toward you did trigger the discussion.”
“By discussion you mean fight?”
Alexia gave him a sardonic look. “I thought you knew my father. One doesn’t fight with the admiral. One listens. One obeys. Or one is disowned.”
“I was the trigger. What was the bullet?”
“He doesn’t find my career acceptable. It’s embarrassing to him and my mother that I focus on sexual behavior. They’d rather I use my psych degree working for the government. Or barring that, they want me to go into private practice in a tidy little office somewhere and talk sexual behavior behind closed doors, where it belongs.”
“But you said what you’re doing will help a lot of people.”
“It will. In the last year, it has, actually. We just received a huge grant to further the work, which is probably what brought the wrong kind of attention.” She was quiet for a second, then shifted one shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “Fitting, my father would say. To my parents, subliminal programming to heal sexual aberrations is nothing more than self-indulgence for the weak.”
“That’s bullshit.” It pissed him off that she would blame herself, even in a roundabout way, for the kidnapping, or for her parents’ narrow views. “You make a difference. And you love what you do. Don’t let bullies push you into sidestepping that passion. Even if one of them is a terrorist and the other your father.”
Alexia’s tension faded, her body relaxing into his again as she laughed.
“I guess that’s what you do, isn’t it? Stop tyrants from getting away with bullying.”
“That’s one of our specialties,” he confirmed. Blake was always proud to be a SEAL, to serve his country. But seeing the admiration in Alexia’s eyes added a nice layer of muscle to that pride.
“So why did things change?” Her tone was pure compassion, so understanding and sweet that he wanted to lay his head on her shoulder and let every pain he’d ever had drain away. “You said you don’t worry about doing your job. But you worry about something else now, don’t you?”
Blake went as still as if she’d pulled the pin from a grenade and tossed it to him. One wrong move and there would be emotional spattering, all over the place.
“Maybe you can sideline with that psych degree,” he joked stiffly, wondering how the hell she’d circled back. Hadn’t baring her own woes been a distraction? You’d think the sad, pathetic story of his childhood was enough to listen to. She still wanted more?
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, sounding compassionate and soothing. He could feel the hurt in the set of her shoulders, though. See it in the stiffness of her smile. “I just, well, you were hurting before. Last fall. It made me sad to see the unhappiness in your eyes.”
Blake clenched his jaw. She’d known then that he was hurting? Was he that transparent? For just a second, he frowned. That wasn’t why she’d slept with him, was it? Pity sex? As quick as the thought came in, it faded. There had been nothing pitiful between them, and he’d be a fool to start thinking that way.
“That was a rough time,” he said, figuring he could let it go at that. Then, hoping she’d accept it as enough of an excuse, he added, “I’d served on three back-to-back missions and was hitting burnout.”
“That’s got to be hard. Like an adrenaline rush that doesn’t stop. I’d think you’d face quite a lot of exhaustion.” She sounded so understanding that Blake had to close his eyes against the emotions her compassion unleashed. He wanted to kick himself. He’d had access to this much caring, this much sympathy eight months ago. And instead of opening to her, he’d locked everything up tight, deep inside where it could fester and ferment and grow. Damn, he was smart.
“You don’t really notice the exhaustion,” he heard himself saying. “At first,
