Under Fire (Elite Force 3)

He hated talking about his age. Age was different in the military, when a man’s useful years evaporated as fast as a pro athlete’s—and the stakes were life and death rather than a touchdown.

“Fine. My point is, for me, it was always about getting married then.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Why is that so surprising? There are men out there who want to get married and have kids.”

“Do you have children?”

“Nope. Never worked out for me.” His biggest regret after each divorce, because he’d wanted kids. And his biggest relief, because he wouldn’t be upsetting tiny lives through his own failures. “The first two times, we weren’t married all that long. The third, it seemed like I was always deployed or out on maneuver right during her, uh, peak fertility time.” His ex had even busted the bank on Victoria’s Secret lingerie and froufrou heels… although best to leave that part out of the discussion. “We were even talking about going the artificial-insemination route—using some of my frozen swimmers. But the marriage fell apart before we got around to thawing them.”

“And what happened to break the two of you up—if you don’t mind my asking something so personal?”

That she would ask meant a lot to him, that she didn’t just assume he was a screwup. By the third divorce, he’d decided it had to be him. Pretty much the consensus. That third hit him the hardest because he’d realized that was it—he wasn’t going to have the gold ring, picket fence, and two-point-two-kids future. “Nothing hugely earth-shattering. She was a nice person. I like to think I’m a decent guy. We just had nothing in common. Zip. Other than both wanting to settle down and have children. I went in with my eyes open. I knew it was a long shot…”

“The breakup still left its mark on you.”

He stayed silent, his eyes locked on John Wayne on the flat-screen TV, kicking ass and taking names—while still winning Maureen O’Hara at the end. Thinking about how hard that last breakup hit him was one thing. Saying it out loud? He swallowed hard.

“You loved her?”

“Yes, I loved her.”

“And now?” she pressed, keeping her voice so low it was barely even a whisper.

“I wasn’t the right guy to make her happy.”

“Or she wasn’t the right person to make you happy.”

He looked over at her sharply. Again, she hadn’t just assumed it was his fault, a three-time loser at happily ever after.

Christ, this woman was drawing him right in, making him want everything all over again even when he knew losing her would leave him gutted in the end. And for him, it always ended. Damn it, he’d gone into this conversation looking for a libido killer, and even after trotting it all out, he still wanted Rachel.

He untangled himself from her and shoved to his feet, away from her and the urge to peel her clothes off, stretch her out on the sofa, and likely propose before the orgasms faded. “You should get some sleep. Take the first bedroom on the right. There’s a guard outside the window. I’ll be out here asleep on the couch.”

***

Rachel wished she could sleep.

She was exhausted all the way to the roots of her hair. But sometime after she’d changed into generic exercise shorts and a T-shirt with an air force logo, she’d found her second wind. All the same, she forced her body to rest, stretching out on the four-poster bed and hugging an itchy, fat pillow sham.

The ringing in her ears grew louder by the second, so loud it almost drowned out Disco’s light snores from across the room, where he sprawled asleep in front of the door. She stared out the half-open miniblinds at the shifting shadows outside. A squat palm tree shook like a pom-pom in the wind. A welcome flag flapped from a porch rail.

And a reed-thin figure sat in the A-frame swing in the front yard. The guard, pretending to be hanging around outside for a smoke. A tiny red light moved from side to side with each puff. Not a bad cover, so those passing by wouldn’t notice anything out of the way. Did the neighborhood realize exactly what this house was used for? Of course the same question could be asked of any safe house in any community—military or civilian.

Liam had come through for her. She was safe and Brandon’s concerns were being investigated. Brandon would be looked after.

And who would look after Liam?

Her eyes slid closed as she thought back to their kiss in the Jeep, so much better to think about than what they’d been through that led them to the kiss. The way he had of distracting her from everything was scary and tantalizing. Always had been, even back when she’d first known him during those frenetic weeks in the Bahamas…

An aftershock rattled the ground clear up through her toes until it rattled her teeth and her nerves after an endless day on the pile, searching for survivors in the rubble. She tossed down her toiletries, tossing aside all hopes of a bath as well. She snagged up Disco’s leash and he trotted into step alongside her as she ran for the door, bursting out onto the beach cabin porch, down the steps.

The narrow street filled with rescue workers and locals, pouring from the houses left standing—or half standing. The structure next door tilted at an angle toward the seaside cliff. And big buff guys pushed through the door, angling sideways to get out ASAP.

Big buff guys wearing nothing but towels, shower time apparently interrupted.

Her eyes locked on one guy in particular. The major she’d met earlier, when she’d first arrived. The ground settled under her feet and she breathed easy enough to allow herself a more leisurely look. She didn’t date or even hook up very often, but this guy had been a serious temptation from the get-go, even fully clothed in grimy camo.

And now, seeing him in nothing more than an insubstantial bit of white terry cloth? Ho-ly cow, he was hot, hot, hot at a time when she could seriously use a distraction. His dark blond hair was even browner, glistening wet from a shower. His chest was like carved bronze muscle. He seemed totally unself-conscious that he stood in the middle of the road wearing nothing more than leather flip-flops and a towel.

She couldn’t resist teasing him, since she didn’t dare touch him. Not out here, and not before she figured out if he was affair material.