"It was her choice."
"And?" Her finger etched down the white line of scar tissue slashing through his dark tan. A knife wound. No question. How had he gotten that scar? Could he even tell her the circumstances if she asked? Given his job, there were things about his life, pieces of this man she could never know. Another obstacle to consider.
"Eva wanted me to get out, too." He opened his eyes and turned his head toward her. "I couldn't do it, Darcy. I couldn't buy into a scenario where we both taught Marine Biology 101 for the rest of our lives. I sure as hell tried. How damned ironic I ended up playing the professor to find her killer. Why the hell couldn't I have just made the change when she was alive?"
Her hand curved over his scarred shoulder. "The Dr. Keagan thing is a part of you, but it's not all of you. Not like being an agent is."
"So it would seem."
And how sad that the understanding should have brought them closer but only widened the gap. No way could she envision him following her around from base to base, swapping university appointments. Max wasn't a follow-around kind of guy. And she respected him for it, even as she wished they could both be different.
Max stroked Darcy's damp hair from her face and wondered how this woman had figured out so much about him in such a short time when he and Eva hadn't understood each other after years together.
"I didn't love her enough." Max ran his hands along Darcy's arm, stopped to cup her hip through the sheet. Would he be able to do any better by this woman?
"Maybe she didn't love you enough."
"Run that one by me again?"
Darcy tucked the sheet higher under her arms. "Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about, or maybe I'm just being judgmental because I'm jealous as hell of her right now. But it seems to me you never asked her to change herself to be with you."
Her words rolled over him, seeping deeper. He would never reconcile not having been able to save Eva. Hell, it had been just a regular swim that day, since she'd already started her paperwork to leave the Agency—a swim that went all to hell after they'd made it through so many ops together unscathed.
No, he would always have to live with her death. But Darcy's words reached him. Yes, he and Eva had both tried like hell to make the relationship work. He may not have loved Eva enough, but he'd done the best he could then by her in life. Maybe with time he could accept that much.
Darcy winced. "Of course, now I'm realizing what a pain in the ass I must have been about my luau socialization invitation."
Max looped her dog tags around his finger and tugged her closer, nose to nose. "There's a big difference between asking a guy to quit the CIA and pushing him to hang out at a party." He loosened his grip, grazing his fingers across her delicate collarbone. "You don't have anything to be jealous of."
Darcy tugged her chain free and sat up. "I wasn't angling for anything with that comment. No need to feel pressured into thinking I expect more from tonight than we had."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He wanted more—and more again, even out of bed when they had their clothes on. He wanted more time with her.
"I understand about adrenaline letdown. We both almost died this week." She wrapped her arms around her knees and pleated the sheet between her fingers. "We're...friends...so the stress is doubled."
Shock sucker punched him. Max sat up and turned her to face him. "You're kicking me out of your bed."
"I'm telling you that you can leave."
"Maybe I don't want to leave."
"Geez, Max." Her fists punched the mattress, pulling the sheet too damned taut against her breasts. "I'm being straight with you. Don't play mind games with me."
"I'm not the one playing here, Darcy. You're the one who's running scared."
She jabbed a finger in his face. "Don't you ever, ever call me a coward."
"Then why the hell are you so damned scared to have a conversation with me?''
He stared into her unblinking eyes and couldn't stop the replay of those same eyes sliding closed with pleasure as water streaked down her face. Why was he pushing this? He should just flip her on her back and slide into her until they both couldn't think, much less talk.
Darcy looked away. She rolled from the bed and to her feet, taking the sheet with her. She scooped her boots off the floor and dropped them into the closet.
She knelt to tug his T-shirt from under the bed. "We are talking."
No they weren't. He was freaking losing his mind while she played Molly Maid. "We're not talking. You're asking questions. Poking and prodding at my past. You talk and talk but you never share one damned piece of yourself."
Darcy shot to her feet and nailed him with angry eyes. "I told you about my father, and look what you did with that information. You used it against me."