The agent gave him a quick thumbs-up and waved him away. Lucas nodded silently and padded back to the other bedroom, locking the door behind him.
Locking him inside with Sara. Freudian slip? Not hardly.
He should pivot his ass right out of the room again and scavenge for food instead of staring at her like some lovesick adolescent. Except, damn. She still took his breath away.
What a hokey phrase—taking his breath away. Yet it fit, because his chest went tight whenever he saw her. Always had, from the first time he'd checked out her luscious-mouthed smile and even more luscious behind that he'd later found fit perfectly in his hands.
She'd changed in subtle but unmistakable ways. She wasn't as lighthearted, and overall she appeared smaller, more angular than before, either from stress or the constraints of her diabetic diet.
He didn't like his inability to stay levelheaded around her. He didn't want anyone to have that much power over him, and he couldn't even let himself think about losing her again.
So why should he lose her?
They were married. She was his wife. They even had a child together. Her brother was the closest thing to a sibling he'd ever had. She would have a tough transition in the coming months, Lucia, too, after her strange, secluded start in life. They needed him. He was good at taking care of people's basic needs—protection, shelter, providing for them.
Finally he could see his role and their future.
He would take it slow with her, of course. He didn't expect to pick up where they'd left off. Since they'd been fighting then, it was probably best not to start there.
But he could slide in bed next to her, hold her while she slept, let himself forget about the mess with Seabrook, a mess he couldn't do a thing about, and how he hated feeling helpless.
He knelt on the edge of the bed, lowering himself slowly until he stretched beside Sara. Sighing, she shifted, her head on his chest again as if by instinct. Where she belonged.
Where she fit so damn well.
How could a two-hour nap have left him so wideawake? Very awake and aware of the woman beside him. As if he wasn't ready to snap with frustration over his life and job, now his body had gone traitorously hard.
Her hand slipped under his T-shirt, fingers splaying over his chest. The touch seemed benign enough, but she may as well have grabbed him a little farther south because the simple brush over his chest had him battling back a groan.
Patience, he reminded himself. This wasn't five years ago.
His body disagreed.
He stayed motionless, waiting for her to settle again. Her lashes fluttered open, confusion fogging her eyes, slowly clearing with fast blinks.
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."