She bolted upright from her pillow. "Lucas?" She jerked her hand from under his shirt, clasping it in her other. "How long did we rest? Is Lucia all right? What time is it?"
"You were only out for a couple of hours." He angled up on an elbow. "She's fine, still sleeping when I checked. And it's two o'clock in the morning."
"It's difficult to believe everything will be fine after so long fearing the worst." She swept a twist of jet-black hair from her face, longer hair now.
Perfect for tangling his hands through during sex.
Perfect for draping over his chest as she draped herself over him.
Damn.
"We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, driving to the base, debriefing, prepping to leave. You should go back to sleep."
"I thought I was so tired, and now I'm wide-awake."
Ditto. A part of him was far more awake than the rest of him. Still, he kept himself reined in, only looking, his hands flat on the scratchy spread. "We could scrounge through the kitchen for something to eat."
"Honestly, if you don't mind I'd really like to talk to you. I've missed our talks out in the garden."
Hang out in bed and talk? Spending another night in the jungle sounded less dangerous.
Not that he could bring himself to roll his sorry butt off the mattress and out the door. "I missed our talks, too."
She sagged back on her pillow, her head turning toward him. "You were good with Lucia this morning in the jungle, keeping her calm and discovering details about the spider."
"I'm pretty much winging it, but I'm trying." While he was trying, he needed to clear up the ungodly mess he'd made when he'd stumbled on that syringe. "I know Lucia is my daughter."
Stilling, she stopped blinking even, before looking away to pick at the wooly pills on the blanket. "You couldn't have had time to run a paternity test, so what changed your mind?"
This answer would be important for the rest of their lives. He had to get it right this time, because he sensed there wouldn't be another do-over. "It wasn't one thing in particular. I just stopped being a first-class ass long enough to think it through and realize you wouldn't lie to me about something so important. And I am so damn sorry for taking this long to figure it out."
He waited for her verdict—and waited longer while she plucked at the fuzz balls on the cover. Her face went so sweet-sad it poured more guilt over him like alcohol over his stitched skin.
She shifted her hand from the bed to just below his bandage. "You had less than three days to absorb everything in the middle of a shoot-out and race through the jungle. I also stabbed you, so I can see where trust issues could get muddled."
He should have known Sara would be fair. Her innate goodness was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place. Her glow still drew him. She'd deserved more from him then. She deserved better from him now, as well.
"There's no excuse for what I said. I don't allow my people to make excuses and I'm not going to make them, either."
"Excuses and reasons are different."
"Not in my book."
She sat upright, crossing her legs and leaning forward on her knees. "Linguistically, there are nuances to the words. An excuse implies you're justifying guilt by shifting the blame to someone else."
Her hair swung forward, a lock brushing the top of his hand now digging into the mattress to keep from reaching for her, peeling her clothes away and tucking her underneath him.
"Lucas?"
"Uh, yeah. Convince me. I'm listening." As well as enjoying the sound of her voice as much as the feel of her hair on his skin. He'd been too long without both.
"About six months ago, Lucia snuck a cookie out of the kitchen. When I caught her stuffing it into her mouth, she said Teresa shouldn't have left the cookie jar out on the table where a kid could reach it if she didn't want those cookies eaten."
He gave up the fight and flipped his hand over to tug the strand of hair lightly. "Reasons still sound like excuses to me."
"Reasons don't necessarily make it right, either, but they help us understand. Such as how I didn't tell you about the diabetes because I was afraid you would insist on carrying the backpack, too, and reopen your arm wound. I already felt so, so guilty for cutting you."
"You were protecting your—our—child." He half smiled, understanding. "Reasons."