The Captive's Return (Wingmen Warriors 10)

"Reasons." She tapped his temple. "Now please tell me your reasons for not trusting that Lucia could be your daughter."

"I told you already. I'm a first-class ass." He continued to stroke the lock of hair between two fingers, stirring memories of her hair teasing down his chest as she kissed her way south.

"An ass, huh? I'm not buying your brush-off answer. Since you aren't going to volunteer, perhaps I could suggest some reasons why I suspect you have difficulty trusting. Then you can tell me if I am right or wrong."

"I've never been any good at games." He wrapped her hair around his hand, his wrist, until he cupped her head.

She didn't object or even acknowledge the touch beyond a glance at his arm, a quick nibble on her bottom lip before looking back into his eyes again. "Because you don't play games?"

"Never have." So what was he doing playing with her hair?

"Never?"

Suddenly they were talking about a lot more than his approach to life, and he wasn't sure he liked that digging much at all. Except he did owe her for what he'd said in the jungle, for denying his own daughter.

He freed his hand from her silken hair before he did something stupid, like gather her against his chest and bury his face in her neck. "Even when I was little, I wasn't much of a kick-the-can kinda kid."

"You told me once your parents weren't well off."

"We had food and a roof over our heads."

"I've learned during the past five years that a full life is about a lot more than financial security."

He wanted better for Lucia than he'd had and already her start had been so far from normal. Something they would have to deal with once they set up housekeeping, a thought that popped a cold sweat. What did he know about building a family?

"My parents were good folk, Irish descent. Dad was a cop shot in the line of duty. He lived through the injury, but twenty-percent disability didn't cover much and he didn't have any other skills. So they both worked minimum wage jobs."

"Worked? Past tense? Are they dead?"

"Dad is. The depression from the shooting finally took its toll. Mom went into a nursing home a few years ago."

"You're only thirty-nine so she can't be old."

Sara was only twenty-nine. So damn young. And hot. And in his bed.

Talk, damn it.

"She's seventy-four, but her health's not great, emphysema..." God, he hadn't strung this many words together at once since...ever. Or the last time Sara picked around inside his brain. At least conversation would offer a distraction from thinking about Seabrook out there somewhere. "Where are you going with this?"

"Trying to figure you out since you don't give excuses or reasons." She reached to cover his hand with hers. "You're a tough man to get to know, Lucas Quade."

O-kay. He could see where this was going. If he wanted to get back in her good graces, he would have to spill his guts as a peace offering.

"I grew up in a rough inner-city neighborhood. People didn't trust cops—or a cop's kid—even an ex-cop."

She skimmed her fingers along his chest, right where the scar rested under his T-shirt. "So you didn't fall out of a tree."

"No." His pecs contracted beneath her featherlight caress, her touch searing.

Sara drew circles on his chest, her eyes trained on her spiral path rather than his face. "Was a woman involved?">Sometimes n**ed and very much within his reach.

Those last dreams too often woke him with a raging erection and no relief in sight. But right now, wide awake after his two-hour power nap, he wasn't dreaming and relief was in his arms for the taking, soft Sara asleep against his side, her head on his chest, her hair teasing his along his neck.

She needed her sleep and she certainly didn't need him hitting on her with some kind of lame-ass, hey I know you're pissed at me and I accused you of being a drug addict, then capped it off by denying my own kid...but would you mind if we took a time-out for a quickie?

Yeah, it would most definitely be a quickie. Because after five years without her—hell, without anybody— he was sure to be one trigger-happy dude in the sack. He'd be lucky to make it inside her, and ah crap, if he started thinking about being inside her again while they were already conveniently in a bed, then he'd lose it here and now.

He inched away, easing his pillow under her head. He spread the edge of the covers over her before ducking into the hall to Lucia's room where Keagan sat vigil with a laptop on his legs. Even though Lucia had been given a clean bill of health and he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, he would feel better after seeing for himself that she still rested peacefully.