She'd always enjoyed J.T.'s body; however that body became all the more tempting when the man inside was being so incredible. Of course, he'd always loved his children, been active in their care, took his turn walking the floor. But the talking? He'd left that up to her.
Until now.
Seeing him become the father she'd always known he could be made her wonder what their lives would have been like had he shared some of that openness with her over the years. She'd lost count of all the arguments and reconciliation talks—actually mostly her talking. And even if he was talking now, too, was it realistic to expect they could patch this up themselves?
This possibility of reconciliation screamed, "last chance." Which meant going for broke on the fix with the one thing they'd never tried.
Marital counseling.
How strange that she of all people should be scared of the prospect. Scared of what she would hear. Could that he why she'd avoided it?
God knows, J.T. wouldn't want to go. Even laid-back Bo dragged his boots at the prospect of spilling his guts and having his brain picked. Hell, she was frightened to her roots just thinking about it, too. But the more she considered the idea, the more certain she became that this offered their only hope.
Of course, that meant delaying any talk for a while longer, waiting for the perfect time rather than some car discussion to and from work. Logical, right?
Not a scared-as-hell stall tactic.
She entered the kitchen before they could come out into the hall and realize she'd been watching them. "Hey, guys. I'm ready anytime."
Chris's gaze ping-ponged from one parent to the other. "Uh, I gotta get something from upstairs."
He angled past and out before she could even hug him.
Rena stopped by the table, couldn't move anyhow. Facing J.T. after making love shouldn't be this … tummy flipping. Exciting. Scary. Much like after their true first time when she realized what they'd done changed everything.
Except after the real first time, he'd held her, kissed her. Damn it, if she couldn't have the holding, she at least wanted her morning-after kiss.
"Hi," she said softly, words suddenly drying up.
"Hi back." J.T. smiled, extending one hand with a muffin, the other with a glass of milk. "Breakfast? I was going to bring it up to you."
Emotions squeezed tighter.
He leaned down over the chair between them while she moved closer and, yes, she had her good-morning kiss even if he couldn't touch her, the chair between them and his hands full of her breakfast. And how sweet was that?
His lips moved over her with a firm, deep, slow kiss as if they had nowhere to go, no real world concerns. A kiss, right in the room where they'd enjoyed a hot encounter after his return from Guam when there had been plenty of sex but, heartbreakingly, no kissing.
His tongue coaxed her lips open, swept inside, connected, explored, sending her tummy into a flat spin. Then he kept right on kissing her so she couldn't say something that would mess this up, and God, but she was relieved.
With a final skim of his lips over hers, he stepped back. "I need to grab my boots and change patches." He placed her muffin and milk on the table. "Be back in a few and then we can leave once you're dressed."
Watching him stride into the garage where they'd made such passionate love the night before, she reminded herself that she had kisses back. That was a positive step. And now she knew what to do to keep them once they both finished their half day at work.
She also knew how hard her reticent husband would resist her solution. Which scared her all the more because this was it. Their last chance.
J.T.'s words echoed through her mind. Anyone can be brave when the odds are in your favor. It's what you do when you're scared that's the true measure of courage.
She sunk into the chair. Great.
With the way odds were stacked against her, her bravery points must be off the charts.
J.T. stood to the side while Spike clicked through the cipher lock at the OSI building. The opening door—thick metal like a safe—hissed with the release of air from the area sealed tight for soundproofing.
He followed Spike through security, down halls and past a mix of workers in uniforms and civilian clothes—the heart of military counterintelligence keeping base personnel clean. He hated like hell that anyone around him might have a part in drug trafficking.
At least he had the connections here to learn the worst his son could face.>Swinging his feet to the floor, he sat on the edge of the mattress, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Minutes ago he didn't want to leave the bed and now he couldn't haul ass out fast enough. What the hell was wrong with him? The truth blindsided him like a bogey sneaking in from his six o'clock.
He'd fallen in love with his wife all over again.