Melt

No, she couldn’t. Not when he did that.

His tongue kept moving, encouraging her with movements not words. Relentless movements that she couldn’t hold out against—and she didn’t want to. She writhed beneath his touches, her mouth spilling the hot secrets he’d wanted to hear.

What she wanted, how she wanted, when she wanted.

His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling and stroking her nipples as his hot mouth sucked on her sex. She curled her thighs around him, feeling his hot jaw press against her smooth skin. Arching up, she opened completely, throwing herself over the edge, shaking as she tumbled into his embrace.

When she opened her eyes, he was smiling, unashamedly admiring her curves.

“What are you waiting for?” Emma teased, breathing out and embracing the bright white night. “I’m ready for more.”

Hunter jumped to the floor, scooped up a handful of those twenty thousand condoms and climbed back in bed to take her every way they could think of.

CHAPTER SIX

CHRISTMAS DAY on the base was a holiday for pretty much everyone. Neither Emma nor Hunter had to work. Neither moved from her bunkroom. Not for hours and hours.

In truth, Hunter never wanted to move again. He’d never felt so at peace, never so relaxed as he was now, lying curved against this strong, petite woman.

But the second he admitted that to himself, the blade of guilt swept in. There was no future between them, but he didn’t want this to end with her tears. He wanted her to understand why it was he made no promises. He wanted her to know more about him. Hell, he wanted her to like him—to leave here and think of him with a smile.

Most of all, he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d given him the best Christmas of his life and the least he could do was explain why that was enough.

“Christmas at our place was always pretty weird,” he murmured hoarsely and then coughed to clear his throat. Hell, did he really want to go into this?

“Why was that?” she asked, her voice soft in the quiet room.

It was almost dark and cozily warm the way they had to lie so close in the narrow bunk. She was on her side with her back to him, and it was somehow easier for him to tell her it all without seeing the sympathy he knew would rise in her eyes. He rested his head on her shoulder and tightened his hold around her waist so she couldn’t turn to face him. Her skin was soft and smooth and welcoming. So he whispered old, painful secrets.

“My parents are both workaholics. They’re photojournalists.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they spent their careers going all over the world photographing everything from royal weddings to wars.”

“Did you go with them?”

“I was in boarding school.” For his entire childhood. “I used to travel with them during the holidays sometimes. But we never spent Christmas together. One or the other or both were always working. Half the time I celebrated Christmas at school. So when I was twelve, I nagged and nagged and nagged them to have a real Christmas—all of us together. I hadn’t realized that they were living increasingly separate lives, doing assignments in different parts of the world. I hadn’t realized the problems they both had.” The way his father drank, the way both parents sought attention and physical relief from others. “So they finally said yes. I was excited about having them both home. A real family Christmas with neither of them working.”

He could feel the tension in her body now as she asked, “What happened?”

“We got through the present opening, but they’d opened the bottles as well. And over the damn bowls of potatoes and peas they had a massive fight. Worse than massive. An hour of screaming and their marriage was over.” All in that one day.

“Your father left?” Despite his grip, she rolled to face him, her green eyes troubled and sweet.

Hunter closed his. “My mother threw him out.” He packed a bag and never came back. He drew in a breath. “For once, I thought we were going to have it—a merry Christmas. But he got so drunk and she was so bitter. They fought about work, about money, about me. About the affairs they’d both had. It was just vicious. Of all the things I’ve witnessed, that one just ripped.” Right there at the dinner table—the place where a family was supposed to eat and laugh and love.

“What did you do?” She put those soft fingers to his face and gently traced his cheek.

“There wasn’t anything I could do. I just watched and wished I’d never suggested it. I’ve never felt the same about Christmas.” Stupid as it was, he hadn’t eaten a traditional Christmas dinner since.

“Hunter, I’m so sorry.”

He managed a chuckle. “I know, it’s pathetic, and it was a long time ago. But it taints it, you know?”

“My mother left me just after Christmas,” she whispered.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He tightened his arm around her, fingers smoothing the skin covering her spine.

“My father was never on the scene, and Mum wasn’t in touch with any of her family,” Emma said. “When I was eight, she decided to go to Australia. She said she’d go first and find some work and send for me. Six months later she was killed in a car crash over there.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “Thing is, she was never going to send for me. She’d left me already.”

“Left you with Bea?”

“I went to Bea when I was fourteen and had been through every foster family they had on the books.”

He was silent a moment. “No wonder she’s so important to you.”

Emma nodded.

“That’s why you want to go back and stay near her, right?”

She nodded again. “I owe her. She was a short-term emergency caregiver, didn’t want long-term placements. So most kids were only with her a week or so, usually less while they found them someplace else to stay. But when there wasn’t anywhere else I could go, she let me stay. She’s the nearest thing I’ve ever had to real family.”

His embrace tightened. She’d been through so much.

“How do you cope with the stress of your job?” she asked.

“I’m not there for the initial rescue and recovery phase. Those search guys see some…” He trailed off. “I’m there for the next part.”

Where people were homeless and desperate, living in extremely hard conditions and when rebuilding was taking forever and people were worn down by the day-to-day grind. She just looked at him and waited.

…

“Don’t look so sad. My life isn’t all awful sights.” He smiled. “I run. I run and run and then I read books.”

“What kind of books?”

“Any kind, really, anything I can get. Paperbacks when the battery runs out on my e-reader and I can’t recharge it.”

“You enjoy the work?”

“Absolutely,” he answered. “It’s my life.”

It was so impressive that he was involved in disaster response and reconstruction, but it hurt her to think that while he swept in to help other people reconstruct their homes, he had no real home himself. He’d never had one.

At least Emma, for all the hardship in her early years, had found a home with Bea. She understood what it meant. She wasn’t sure that Hunter did.

“It’s a very generous thing you do.” She traced his jaw with the back of her fingers.

“Not really,” he confessed. “It’s also convenient. Never staying in one place for more than a year or so means I don’t have long-term relationships—romantic ones, I mean.”

Yeah, she could see how it totally enabled him to avoid emotional intimacy and commitment.

“I’m a little too much like my parents,” he continued, seeming determined to explain this to her. “Workaholic, driven by wanderlust. It’s not fair to a partner to drag her around through that. It’s certainly not fair to bring kids into that lifestyle. Family isn’t a fit for me.”

She met his eyes and understood what he was telling her. “What drew you to it?” she asked, to get them ont

o a sidetrack. “The traveling like your parents?”